Breath and Focus
by Heiwako
Summary: Sequel to For the Future of Skyrim. The feud between Lydia and Hecate continue while the Stormcloak Rebellion struggles without the leadership of Ulfric Stormcloak.
1. Laughter on the Wind

**A/N: Dear Constant Reader: Thank you for returning to join me for another adventure through Skyrim. Hecate and Cicero are back and the Brotherhood is stronger than ever. In many ways, I think of this as Lydia's story. We'll be welcoming some familiar faces for the first time and saying goodbye to some old ones. This will not be a Brotherhood centric only story as in the past. We'll see what happened to Lydia while she's on her own after Diana left as well as the return of some old "friends". **

**Hopefully, in the next week or so, Blackwingedheaven will start his "Age of Assassins". I expect some crossover between our stories, but not so much that it will ruin the enjoyment of anyone who only reads one half.  
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**I hope you enjoy our tales and feedback is always appreciated. **

**Kill well and often, brothers and sisters.**

* * *

**Morndas 15 Midyear 205 4E 10:00 PM**

When death came, it came as laughter on the wind.

It had been three month since Ulfric Stormcloak had been murdered in the Palace of the Kings in Windhelm. The loss of their leader and his right hand man had been a devastating blow to the Stormcloak Army. They would have lost to the Imperial Legion if not for the guidance of Lydia Dragonborn. She now called herself Lydia Stormblade in his memory after the honorary title Ulfric had bestowed her on their last great victory before his death.

It had been demoralizing to have the capital of the Imperial sympathizers, Solitude, so close to being in their grasp before it was taken away. In many ways, Ulfric had been the heart and soul of the rebellion. It was his name that was born by every solider and it was his ideals and words they carried in their hearts to battle.

At sixteen, Saeda was technically too young to join. It didn't matter though. This wasn't Legion where you had to be eighteen to sign up for a minimum of two years. This was the Stormcloaks, and any true son or daughter who wanted to fight and possibly die for their land was welcome.

Saeda had grown up in Windhelm under the influence of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak his whole life. He remembered the man when he happened to walk through the city on his way to some meeting with other jarls or consult with his generals. Ulfric was the model example of what it meant to be a son of Skyrim. He was handsome, dedicated to his people, strong, and a powerful warrior. The man had been personally chosen by the Greybeards, the most elusive faction in all of Skyrim – no, in all of Tamriel – to be one of them and had given that up to fight during the Great War against the Aldmeri Dominion.

The young Stormcloak had been outraged when the Emperor had bent knee to the elves and given in to every single one of their demands, including the outlawing of Talos worship. The very man who had created the empire and become a god had been forsaken by his own successor. If the elves didn't wish to worship Talos, that was their right, but gods damn them all if they thought they could bring that trash into Skyrim. The Nords had always been a proud race who lived by their own sacred traditions; there was no reason to change now.

Saeda had to admit there was some truth in that the Stormcloak army was desperately lacking in numbers. They had always been outnumbered compared to the vast Imperial Legion that not only drew on traitorous Nords for troops, but all of Cyrodiil and High Rock as well. In the end, it was irrelevant. The Stormcloaks had always been terribly outnumbered, but they had the home field advantage.

And they had the Dragonborn.

When Lydia Dragonborn joined the army, things had changed and for the better. Nords who had either stayed neutral or had sided with the Imperial Army now doubted their choice. Some had even defected to the Stormcloak cause. How could they stand against the hero of legend, the one who commanded the mighty thu'um and had destroyed the World-Eater when he had returned to obliterate the world?

In the next three years, the Stormcloaks had found victory across the land, taking hold after hold. Everyone had thought that Ulfric would finally be named High King and Skyrim could find peace again after driving out the elves. Then the worst thing possible had happened: Ulfric had died, murdered in his own home.

It would have been bad enough if it had been some elite Imperial force, but there were bone-chilling rumors that it had been the Dark Brotherhood who had killed Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The assassins only came if someone prayed to their dark god and performed an evil ritual known as the Black Sacrament. Saeda didn't understand how anyone could call themselves loyal to the Empire and call upon assassins after the Brotherhood had murdered Titus Mede II in the very waters outside of Solitude. It made no sense to him.

What was worse was that there was a newer rumor. Some were saying that the Empire had employed the honorless bastards again. Saeda had heard there was a letter with a smiling face and frowning face with the caption "We're coming for you" written on it found in the captain's tent.

A pair of mountain flowers, one red and one black, had been found outside of the captain's tent tonight. The men were whispering that the sightings of jesters near Brotherhood killings were real and that they were on their way to claim the soul of Captain Sifkni so Fort Hraggstad could be returned to Imperial control.

"Black isn't even a natural color for a mountain flower," one soldier scoffed. "It's as meaningless as the Brotherhood itself."

Saeda was on patrol duty with some other men. He had paused at a campfire to get something to drink and hear what the men were saying. Everyone was talking about the rumor, but no one knew who had started it. "Shut your mouth, you fool," another snapped. "If they can kill the Emperor and Ulfric, what hope does Sifkni have?"

"The Emperor was a milk-drinking weakling," the first one retorted. "Jarl Ulfric was ambushed without his honor guard. Sifkni has a whole contingent of men here to protect him."

It was true that the fort was full, but that only accounted for about forty men. The rest of the forces were out on the field fighting to keep the land they had painstakingly worked so hard to claim. So far the forces in Falkreath had managed to hold the all-important Pale Pass so the Legion couldn't flood back into Skyrim, but nothing stopped them from traveling via ship to Solitude. This meant their troops were sent to Fort Hraggstad to oust the Stormcloaks from Haafingar Hold. The Imperials had to be nervous with their enemies on their backyard.

Luckily for the Stormcloaks, the Imperial reinforcements were often below optimal fighting condition. Water travel added months of travel time; fewer men could go out per ship, and there were always the problems of dysentery and seasickness. It was a rallying point for the rebels, but unfortunately the Empire was not ground to a halt on reinforcing their army. Thus, the war continued if at a much slower pace.

"You don't understand," a third, older soldier spoke up. "Nothing stops the Brotherhood. They are death incarnate. If they decide it is time to come for you, then you better make your goodbyes to your loved ones and square your debts with any gods or daedra. Not that it would matter who you're in the red with. Sithis is going to claim you all the same." His eyes were wide enough that Saeda could see the whites. "And then he'll devour your soul when you go screaming to the Void."

"But they'll only kill Captain Sifkni, right?" Saeda asked nervously, joining the conversation. It was on thing to die in battle; but it was another to die in your sleep or home. "The Brotherhood only kills who they are contracted to kill, right?"

"Normally," the older soldier responded. He sat close to the fire despite the fact that it was a warm summer night and rubbed his hands as if cold. "But they will also kill anyone who gets in their way. And they say these two are insane, even by the standards of assassins. They dress as jesters - a clear sign of being allied to the Empire if I ever saw one - and their battle cry is laughter. They leave no one alive."

"How can anyone know anything about them if no one is ever left alive?" the first one asked. "It's just all propaganda by the Brotherhood. Plain and simple."

"People know because the Brotherhood wants them to know," the older soldier said. He frowned at the condescending tone of the arrogant soldier. "You've only lived during a time when the Brotherhood was known as little more than a joke, much like the Thieves' Guild. But I remember when their Black Hand reached over all of Tamriel, just as I can remember a time when you could go into a temple of the Divines and see Talos' shrine standing proud with the rest of the gods."

"I'm not going to be scared of some fucking milk-drinking shadow creeping cowards," the first soldier spat. "You shouldn't either if you're a true son of Skyrim. A true son of Skyrim is fearless."

"No, son," the other soldier shook his head. "A true son of Skyrim is brave and bravery is admitting that you're afraid and still facing impossible odds." He stood, his arms crossed in front of him, still appearing cold. "There is a cold wind coming, my friends. We should be ready for the next storm, whether it is from Kyne or Sithis, or we'll all be lost."

As the older man left to go find his cot, the first soldier shook his head. "Damn, superstitious old man," he muttered. "That sort of thinking is why the Empire was able to rule for so long. We've got to stand strong and proud instead of looking under beds for monsters lurking in the shadows."

"What if he's right?" Saeda whispered. "What will we do?"

"We'll kill any assassins we find and string up their bodies for the crows," the other man snorted.

"What's that?" another soldier spoke up suddenly.

The men all fell silent as they tilted their heads to listen for what the soldier had heard. It was faint, but distinctive. Laughter.

It grew louder and louder. Laughter coming from the darkness. Laughter, jagged and raw, like the sound a man made when he's lost everything and had no idea what to do next. Laughter, almost like a scream.

Then the real screaming started.

"To arms, to arms!" a guard yelled. Stormcloaks jumped up from their seats, grabbing weapons as they flocked to the attack.

Saeda noticed some men were still sleeping in their tents. He had no idea how many were attacking the camp, so he ran to wake them. It wouldn't hurt to have more men fighting. The boy shook a shoulder violently, but there was no response. When Saeda rolled him over, he was horrified to see the man was already dead. The dead warrior's eyes were bulged out and a sickly green froth had gathered around his lips.

They had already been here.

Saeda's legs became weak and he fell to his knees. How could they have snuck into the camp and poisoned people and no one notice? Might as well ask how the roses and notes had made their way into the captain's tent.

The boy turned and saw a large group of soldiers were gathered around a large fire pit. There were about a half dozen Stormcloaks fighting two people wearing black and red clothes. Their outfits were accented with black and gold gloves and boots and pointed flap caps. They looked too small to be Nords as the Stormcloaks loomed over them and it was impossible to tell their genders.

Most horrifying were their faces - or lack thereof. One wore a red porcelain mask of a smiling face, while the other wore a black matching mask that was turned into a scream. Both were grotesque in their features, eye holes and mouths much too big and twisted to ever be real.

They laughed and laughed and laughed.

Saeda could hear it above the clash of metal against metal and the battle cries of his fellow soldiers. It was dizzying to see how fast the assassins moved. Saeda watched as a Stormcloak swung a hammer and the red masked assassin leaned back under the swing. As the hammer reached the end of its arc, the assassin was already up and stabbing the attacker in the chest. He sprung off the dead man's chest as another Stormcloak tried to thrust his great sword into the fiend.

As the assassin jumped into the air, he did a backflip and landed on another Stormcloak's shoulder. One smooth motion later, the man held his throat as his life blood spilled onto the ground. The man gurgled as he spun around once and fell to the earth.

The black masked assassin was not doing badly either. A dual dagger wielding Stormcloak, almost as fast as the jesters, attacked him. The laughing figure dodged, barely using any motion to avoid each strike. Another soldier charged him and he responded by bending down and using the man's momentum to flip him into the knife fighter. As the two tumbled to the ground, the assassin slashed their throats before darting off to the other jester.

The two of them touched hands, apparently taking a moment to stare at each other. Then they held each other's hand as they moved into a dancing position. Dancing! In battle!

Saeda hadn't seen much dancing in his years, so he had no words for the steps they used, but there was no mistake the madmen were dancing as they killed more and more Stormcloaks. They whirled and twirled, mostly avoiding blows as they took down wave after wave of soldiers.

For each cut they received, they returned a lethal kick, punch, or slash of their deadly ebony knives. Soon a ring of dead soldiers circled them. It morbidly reminded Saeda of the mushroom rings that nature spirits were supposed to use to travel to the different realms of the daedra.

"A promotion for any man who kills either one of those bastards!" Captain Sifkni yelled. He had finally arrived to the battle, wearing his steel plated armor. Saeda doubted the man had been wearing it before the attack started.

The jesters' response was only more laughter.

The boy knew he should get up and join the battle, but he couldn't convince his legs to move. He had never actually been in battle before. He had been on patrol and given gate duty. Occasionally, he was sent out to gather items from the dead, whether to reuse for the living or to find mementos to return to the dead's families. But he had never seen battle before and it didn't seem to be fair that his first was during a massacre in his own army's fort.

"For Skyrim!"

A squad of four Stormcloaks charged towards the jesters. The red masked one darted towards them, while the black masked one stayed behind. When the assassin met the soldiers, he became a red blur, moving too fast to follow. Within seconds, they were dead and he was still standing.

The jesters advanced towards the center of camp. They were getting closer to Saeda, who was still sprawled on the ground. He knew that he should either get up and fight or at least retreat, but his whole body felt numb from what he had witnessed.

People he knew by name were dead. People he had shared dinner with or a blanket during a cold night were now nothing more than corpses on the ground. How could this be? Just minutes ago he had been listening to men argue about whether the Dark Brotherhood was dangerous. Saeda picked out the first soldier who had scoffed so confidently. He was lying on his back, his mouth open in horror and his eyes gone. When had that happened?

"Come to your death, Captain Sifkni!" the black masked jester called. Although muffled, Saeda could tell that it was a woman's voice. "If you give yourself to Sithis now, we'll allow the rest of your men to live. Otherwise, their souls will be forfeit to Sithis as well."

"Never!" Captain Sifkni returned. "A Stormcloak never surrenders."

"Don't I know that," she muttered darkly. The woman had walked close enough that Saeda could have reached out and touched her leg, but he didn't dare to draw her attention. "I'll offer a second time, officer. Accept your fate instead of imposing it on your men."

"My answer will always be no!" Sifkni spat. He readied his sword. "Fire!"

Archers drew their bows and started firing towards the assassins, but the two of them easily found cover before the arrows could pierce them. Saeda sighed in relief. With the fire support, the killers were pinned. Captain Sifkni would take his time gathering the remaining men and circle in on them, wounding them easily with their superior range.

"Oh, no! What are we going to do now, oh great and powerful Listener?" the red masked one asked mockingly. Saeda thought at first it was another woman because of the high pitched voice, but the giggling sounded more masculine.

The black masked jester ignored the taunts of the other as she rooted around her area until she found a bow and some arrows. "They would have been better off just coming to us," she commented as she tested the pull. "Then they would have had a chance."

The female jester sat there for a second with her head bowed. Saeda could hear her taking large gulps of breath and slowly letting them out. He wondered if she was praying to her dark god for help.

While the archers were readying their shots, the female assassin suddenly popped out of cover. Calmly, she walked across the field, shooting arrow after arrow into the crowd protecting the captain. Each bolt found its mark perfectly – a throat shot here, a chest wound there, a puncture through an eyeball. There were no glancing blows or wide misses. Each volley was a fatal shot.

Captain Sifkni found himself alone, all of his support dead or dying. He looked around and saw no one else coming to his aid. His men had all been killed or had fled. The captain fell into a defensive stance with his mace held ready. "Come for me if you dare, you bastards!" he cried, still not willing to surrender.

"**WULD!"**

The female assassin was near Saeda one second and within Sifkni's guard the next. She had gone a hundred feet in a second. It was impossible! Did the Dark Brotherhood possess some forbidden magic too?

Unfortunately for the woman, Captain Sifkni was the best warrior in the camp. It was common to earn promotions in the Stormcloak army based on performance in battle, and the man's skill was legendary. Despite her inhuman speed, he had still managed to swing his huge steel mace. The edge of the weapon caught her in the face and shattered her porcelain mask.

Shards of ceramic flew and a spray of blood into the air as the mace found purchase. Saeda almost cheered when she fell backwards and rolled down the hill. The small figure didn't move once she came to a stop.

"Listener!" the male jester screamed. He ran to his companion and picked her up in his arms. Saeda was confused at the amount of affection the man was showing to the woman. Weren't all assassins cold-hearted, emotionless monsters? "Are you okay?"

"Finish the contract," she replied. The bottom half of her mask was completely destroyed, but the top half still remained. Her voice was more garbled than before. When the woman spat onto the ground, a glob of blood landed.

"As you command," the smiling-faced jester answered. He gave a grand bow before stalking up the hill. "Oh, Captain! I'm coming for you!" he called in a sing-song voice.

"I welcome the challenge!" Sifkni responded. He readied his weapon again, prepared to take down the male the same way he did the female.

However, the male didn't charge the captain directly. He cartwheeled and somersaulted about the commander, dodging Sifkni's blows until he was behind the man. Then the jester jumped backwards so he landed on his hands and used the momentum to thrust his feet forward so they kicked Sifkni in the back.

The larger man wheeled his arms as his greater mass and heavier armor prevented him from keeping his balance. The Nord fell down the hill until he rolled to where the woman was still waiting. He tried to get up, but much like a turtle on its back, he could barely move in his armor.

"I thought I told you to finish the contract?" she asked as the male jester joined her.

"It didn't seem right to do it alone," he said plaintively.

"Aw, a gift," she teased. "My Fool of Hearts is so generous."

"Always," he preened.

"Together then?" When the smiling faced jester nodded, the two of them knelt, held up their daggers and plunged them into the joints of Captain Sifkni's armor. Sifkni gurgled once as he body stiffened and then fell limp.

It was over.

"How's your face?" the male asked.

"No loose teeth, thank Mara," the woman answered as she gingerly touched her mouth. "Some cuts and there'll probably be bruising. I don't think it will scar."

"Not too tender for a kiss?"

"I think I can suffer for that," she chuckled.

Saeda watched in horror as the assassins shared a passionate kiss over the dead captain's body. They stood up and held hands as they wondered off.

Once the assassins were gone, Saeda realized that he had been holding his breath. He couldn't believe that he was still alive when everyone else was dead. He touched his face and chest, making sure he had not imagined the whole thing.

The boy stood up and shakily walked towards his tent. He would grab his few possessions and get out of here. He didn't know where he would go, but if it wasn't here, then he didn't care.

The camp was silent. Too silent.

Saeda passed Captain Sifkni, whose dead gaze looked too accusatory. "I didn't give up," it said. "Why didn't you even try?"

The boy saw the body of the soldier who hadn't believed in the Brotherhood's strength. It looked like he had been one of the ones they had caught unaware. His eyes were open still with incredulity. "The Brotherhood isn't real," those eyes whispered. "They're just a story to scare children."

Saeda whimpered as he walked by. He hoped he didn't see the older soldier, the one who warned them. Maybe the man had gotten away. Maybe Saeda wasn't the only one left.

When Saeda reached his tent, he almost couldn't open it because his hands were shaking so badly. It took several tries to untie the flap before he succeeded. When he finally got inside, he had to sit on his cot for several minutes with his head in his hands.

It was impossible to get the images out of his head.

How the jesters moved like wind spirits. How they looked like demons. How they had laughed and danced. How they had kissed like two lovers going on a moonlit stroll after killing the captain instead of two killers ending a massacre.

When Saeda finally composed himself, he grabbed his backpack and crammed whatever he could grab. Once it was full, he tied it closed and threw it over his shoulder. He reached to open the tent flap when it flew open on its own.

The boy screamed and fell backwards, landing on his ass, as he saw the entrance was filled with the forms of the jesters. They had come back! They had come back to finish the job. "Oh, Mara, Kynareth, Talos, Divines protect me," he wailed.

"That takes me back," the woman murmured. The bottom half of her face was still streaked with blood and the cuts on her lips leaked as she smiled.

Darkness filled the tent as the assassins stepped in and loomed over the sprawled Stormcloak. "Looks like we missed one, Listener," the male chided.

"It does at that, my Keeper," she responded.

"Whatever will we do about that?" the Keeper asked as he fingered his ebony blade. "Maybe we should send his soul to the Void too."

"What do you think, young man?" the Listener asked. She knelt before Saeda. "Are you ready to die for your cause?"

"I don't want to die!" Saeda admitted. He hated himself for it, but it was true. He had thought he was ready to die on the fields of battle while fighting gloriously, but the truth was he wasn't ready for either.

"You're just a child, aren't you?" the Listener asked. It should have sounded condescending or taunting, but Saeda could tell that she was sincere. He nodded, not believing his luck.

"I have a proposal for you then," she continued. "Go back to Windhelm and tell them what you saw today. Everything. If you do that, we won't kill you now. We'll let you live a good long life and then someday when you're old and in your bed, one of ours will come and send you to the Void."

"That doesn't sound every appealing," Saeda whimpered.

"The counteroffer is we kill you now," the Listener frowned. "It will probably be slow. My Keeper is in a playful mood. I wouldn't recommend it."

"Oh gods," Saeda moaned. Die now or die later, but death now knew him personally.

"I want you to tell the leaders of your rebellion, especially Lydia Stormblade, a message for me. Tell them that this is a lesson," the Listener continued, ignoring Saeda's comment. "Tell them that Ulfric couldn't stop us, Titus Mede couldn't stop us, and if the Night Mother commanded it, then we would kill Talos himself. Now, tell me what you'll say so I'll know you'll do it right."

Saeda nodded his agreement, hating himself. "Okay, okay. I'll do it. I'll tell them two jesters in demon masks came and killed everyone except me. They wanted me to give a message."

"No, no, they're not demon masks. They're comedy and tragedy masks. I swear this country has no culture," the Listener huffed.

"I'm sorry," Saeda whimpered. What if they changed their minds? "Two jesters in comedy and tragedy masks came, killed everyone including Captain Sifkni, and wanted Lydia Stormblade to know that nothing will stop them."

"Good," the woman smiled. Saeda was surprised to see that it wasn't cruel. It was almost kind, in fact. "I wish you luck, child."

The assassins stood and left without another word. Saeda knew they had really departed this time because he could hear their laughter fading away into the night.

Saeda started shaking again. He would be labeled a milk-drinker and probably a traitor the rest of his life. He didn't care; he would be alive to hear the taunts. It was better than being dead.

For the first time in years, he wished his mother was nearby so she could hug him and make him feel better. Instead, he cried. Huge, unabashed tears ran down his face as he mourned the loss of his companions. Then he started to scream.

Saeda wasn't sure when, but at some point the screaming became laughter.


	2. Jordis the Shield-Maiden

**Tirdas 16 Midyear 205 4E 12:00 AM**

Jordis the Sword-Maiden sighed as she rolled onto her side. It was always hard for her to fall asleep on the sleeping roll in her room in the basement of Proudspire Manor. There was no furniture in her room at all. The only decorations - and Jordis used that term loosely - were old wooden boxes, remnants of the previous owner, stacked on top of each other.

At least it was warm in here thanks to the fire pit in the next room. With no rugs or furs, the room would have been unbearable otherwise. Solitude wasn't as far north as Dawnstar or Winterhold, but it still got very chill at nights, even during the summer months.

The strawberry-blonde Nord really wished her thane would remember to furnish her room, but unfortunately the Dragonborn was rarely ever in Solitude. And when she did show up, it was always a whirlwind of activity before she rushed off to wherever she was going. There had been more than one occasion where the Dragonborn had swept into the capital, visited Jarl Elisif the Fair, and left without Jordis even knowing she had been in town at all.

Leaving Jordis without a bed.

Jordis had been given the "privilege" of being Diana Dragonborn's housecarl back in Hearthfire of last year when she had presented her ward, Aventus Aretino, to the Blue Palace court. Elisif had taken an immediately liking to the boy, not surprising given his patron, and had decided that it was only appropriate that the boy have a guardian during his time in the capital. At eighteen, Jordis was the youngest member of the court and the closest to Aventus' age, so it seemed natural for her to be chosen as his protector.

Aventus had been enrolled in the Bard's College and would be learning the trade of the songsters for the next couple of years. Since the boy was old enough to be apprenticed, normally no one would give two thoughts about him. The Bard's School was the least violent faction in Skyrim and every member was well liked across the land.

Unfortunately, because of the false Dragonborn who had joined Ulfric's rebellion, the name of the Dragonborn was now spit upon instead of revered. The legacy of the thu'um should have been enough to stay anyone's hand who would think to do the boy harm, but instead it was now a reason to incite hatred. Very few knew that Diana was the real Dragonborn and Lydia, her former housecarl of Whiterun, was a mere identity thief.

Although Diana had made Elisif promise to not give her ward special favors or recognition, which seemed perfectly reasonable, Elisif had still insisted that the boy be given his own bodyguard. The restriction meant that Jordis couldn't guard Aventus while he was in classes and definitely not at night when he was sleeping in the freshmen dorm. It drove Jordis to distraction. It was highly impractical for a housecarl to leave her charge's side. How could she protect Aventus if he was always away from her?

And there had been the various times when the boy had decided to spend the night because of a holiday or he wanted some time away from the other students. Jordis had tried to assist him with his bath, a standard housecarl duty, and the boy had just about died of embarrassment. The Nord didn't understand what the problem was. She had heard how the Imperials had orgies all the time down in Cyrodiil, so what was the big deal about her bathing him? It's not like she wanted to scrub him all over. She had merely tried to fulfill her duty like a loyal housecarl should.

The floor felt particularly hard tonight. Jordis sighed as she turned over again. If only if she had a cot or something down here. She missed her room at the Blue Palace.

The housecarl thought back to the first time she had met the Dragonborn. When they had returned to Proudspire Manor from the Blue Palace, the small Imperial woman had turned to the younger people.

"Look, I'm gonna have only one rule in this house," she announced. She stamped her foot as she pointed up the stairs. "No one is to use my bedroom while I'm gone. I don't care if I only use this place one day out of the year, that's my room and it is only for me."

"What about Cicero?" Aventus had teased.

"Him too," Diana said as she blushed.

"Who's Cicero?" Jordis asked.

"He's my," Diana looked like she was about to bite her own tongue on the last word, "husband." Frankly, Jordis thought it was weird for someone to grit their teeth so much when talking about the person they were supposed to spend the rest of their life with, but Imperials were strange folk.

Jordis had heard a lot about the natives of Cyrodiil. Since their capital was full of legionnaires, it only made sense to know as much about their allies as possible. She knew that Imperials were incorrigible (whatever that meant) flirts, they loved money (she had heard they could squeeze a septim out of a carrot), and they were remarkably good at light infantry, which was at least something Jordis could understand.

Oh, and they had orgies every night. Can't forget the orgies.

"Will you be having an orgy before you leave, my thane?" Jordis had asked. It seemed like a good idea to show that she was aware of their cultural niceties.

"What?" Diana and Aventus had both asked. Jordis worried that their eyes were going to pop out of their sockets.

"The orgy, ma'am," Jordis had said formally. She briefly wondered if she was saying it wrong. "I hear Imperials have them all the time."

"Jordis, do you know what an orgy is?" Diana asked carefully.

Jordis wasn't exactly sure what an orgy was, but she was pretty certain that it was some sort of fancy party. Imperials seemed the type to be good at throwing parties with all of their money and flirting.

"I have never been to one, but it would be an honor to be invited," Jordis replied. She hadn't been to a party ever.

"Um, no orgies," Diana had said. Her entire face had looked as red as a tomato. "Do you mind if I talk to Aventus for a bit?"

"No, my thane," the housecarl said, trying to hide her disappointment. She never got to do anything fun.

"I don't think she knows what an orgy is," Aventus whispered.

"Me neither and I have no plans on correcting her," Diana responded. "I'm going to head out in the morning. Do you think you have everything you need?"

"I'll be fine," Aventus promised.

The trio had spent the rest of the day at the market, picking up various necessities for Aventus. Diana had made arrangements with Falk Firebeard, Elisif's steward, to completely outfit the house, so none of them had known that Jordis' room was bare. By the time she had realized it, Diana had already left for whatever adventure she had planned after leaving Aventus.

So, now Jordis was stuck sleeping on the floor.

"You know, hon, if you want, you are more than welcome to go back to the Blue Palace when I'm out of town and Aventus has to be in class," Diana had offered that day. "I don't see any reason for you to be alone in such a big house."

"Thank you, my thane, but it is my duty to guard your possessions if you do not need my services otherwise," the girl had responded. She probably would have answered differently if she had known the circumstances better, but she had given her word and so she had stayed. A Nord always kept her word and a housecarl was always loyal to her thane. To her very bones and soul, a housecarl exemplified loyalty.

"Was Lydia like this?" Aventus had asked Diana as they returned home.

Jordis had fallen behind because she had insisted on carrying all of the packages and one of them had fallen out of her grasp. She had desperately tried to pick it up with her foot, but the darn thing was not cooperating.

"No, not really," Diana had said with a soft voice as she looked away. "She had the same sense of duty and desire to serve her thane, but there was more fire and wit there."

"Well, it's good they're not alike," Aventus said with a nod. "Maybe I can learn to like her since I know she won't betray me."

"I guess," Diana had said, but she had sounded doubtful.

* * *

**Tirdas 16 Midyear 205 4E 1:00 AM**

Jordis awoke to her side hurting. She lifted up her bedroll and found a big pebble had been poking her side. How had the darn thing gotten there to begin with? She tossed the offending rock aside and laid back down. Sometimes she wished she could sleep in Aventus' bed.

Oh!

Jordis sat up with her mouth in a little 'o' shape. Aventus' bed! She hadn't been ordered to not use it. He had seemed really nice the few times she had been around him, surely he wouldn't mind if she borrowed his bed until she got a real one. She just had to be sure to tell him that she needed a bed and she bet Talos to Talons that he would get one for her.

The strawberry-blonde giggled happily as she gathered her things and headed upstairs. When she entered the main entry room, she paused. The Nord could hear noises coming from the top floor. Oh gods, intruders!

Thankfully, she was there to protect her thane's possessions! Oh, Diana and Aventus were going to be so happy when they finally came home and she told them how she valiantly ran the thieves off. Screw those thieves!

Jordis carefully put her sleeping gear on the ground out of the way. It wouldn't do if the thieves tripped over it. She gathered her sword and shield from the weapons rack before heading upstairs. She tried to move quietly, but it was hard to do with her bulky weapons. At least she wasn't wearing her steel armor. Not that it really mattered. These were really loud thieves.

Oh gods, the noises were coming from the master bedroom! There's where Thane Diana kept all her things! Well, the stuff she bothered to leave here, anyway. All that grunting and moaning must mean they were trying to steal the furniture.

Jordis kicked the door open and cried, "Halt, thieves! In the name of Solitude, I am arresting you!"

She had been prepared for many reactions. Denial, an attempt at escape, or maybe even a straight up fight. Jordis had not been prepared to hear a woman screaming.

For a moment, the young housecarl stood there, blinking as she tried to adjust her eyesight to the dark room. There were two figures kneeling on the bed and they were holding up one of the blankets to cover them. One of the figures leaned forward and lit a candle to reveal an Imperial man and woman both naked as far as Jordis could see. The blanket covered a whole lot and she could only see to their shoulders.

"Who in the Void are you?" the woman shouted.

"My thane?" Jordis said weakly. In the light, she now recognized Diana Dragonborn despite the fact the woman's face looked cut and bruised. "Um, welcome home?"

"Get out!" the Dovahkiin commanded. The walls shuddered at the force of her Voice.

Nords by nature are brave warriors. They will face overwhelming odds time and time again to prove their physical prowess. Jordis still ran like a small child back downstairs at the order of her thane.

* * *

**Tirdas 16 Midyear 205 4E 1:05 AM**

"That was too close," Hecate sighed as she lowered the blanket. Jordi would have been shocked to discover the lovers were not naked. Instead she and Cicero were still wearing the bottom half of their motleys. "I cannot believe we forgot about the housecarl."

"Hecate may have, but Cicero didn't," the Keeper smirked as he stretched out on the bed. He grabbed Hecate and pulled her to him. "The possibility of being caught is half the fun."

"Maybe for you," Hecate frowned. Cicero could have at least reminded her about their houseguest, but given how immersed they had been in kissing when they had stumbled into the house, she supposed she couldn't fault him for not taking the moment to remind her.

The two of them had traveled to Solitude to rest for the night before moving onward the next day. They had been in high spirits from the success of their most recent contract and could not keep their hands off each other. The Listener had been surprised they had waited to get back to Proudspire before things got too hot and heavy.

Hecate had not planned on making an appearance as Diana in the capital, but now she was going to have to since they had been discovered being in town. It would look odd if the Dragonborn did not attempt to visit the jarl when she was in Solitude. It was inconvenient, but at least it wouldn't take a lot of time. She'd just pop into the Blue Palace tomorrow and maybe have a word with Elisif about the housecarl.

The girl seemed nice enough, but Hecate didn't like having some stranger in her house while she was gone. There were some conveniences to keeping someone in the house, like having a fire already going to keep the place warm, but it made using Proudspire as a base much more inconvenient.

Cicero leaned over and kissed Hecate. "Hm, where were we?" he murmured. His hands drifted over Hecate's body, making her sigh with pleasure. His thumb pressed against her nipple and circled it. "Cicero believes about here seems right."

The Listener moaned happily as her lover moved so he was over her and rubbing his body against her. It delighted her to feel velvet against velvet and her Keeper's expert hands touching her in all the right ways.

Then she heard crying from downstairs.

"Oh, for Mara's sake," Hecate complained as she pushed the Keeper away. The Listener sat up and pulled off her curly toed boots and striped pants.

"You're going to go comfort the girl," Cicero said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes," Hecate agreed as she pulled on a sleeping robe.

"My Listener is too kind," Cicero teased. He was lying on his stomach with his feet in the air. "Don't take too long or Cicero will have to Keep himself."

"Don't threaten me, Fool," Hecate shot back as she swatted the jester's head as she walked by.

As she descended the stairs, Hecate took a deep breath as she mentally put on her Diana mask. It was important to her to keep her identities as separate as much as possible. She had never had the problem of her past lives intersecting just as she had never had the problem of being famous before.

She might occasionally use her position as Dragonborn to drop some rumors in the right ears in the courts and to keep an update on the civil war, but in general Diana and Hecate were two separate people as far as she was concerned. She wasn't an actor like Cicero who could adopt a personality appropriate for a situation at the drop of a hat. She was just herself.

The only difference was that Diana was a hero and Hecate was a villain.

When she opened her eyes again, Diana saw the girl sitting at the small eating table. The Nord was bent forward so her face was in her hands and she was weeping loudly. Diana bit her lip as she watched the heart-wrenching scene. She hated to see people upset or in pain, but she didn't really know how to make them feel better if there wasn't something to retrieve or someone to beat up.

The Dragonborn tentatively placed her hand on the other woman's shoulder. She patted awkwardly. "Um, there, there. It's okay."

"No, it's not!" the housecarl wailed. "I walked in on you and your husband – well, I think that's your husband. I really don't know, but if it isn't then I'm not judging because it's not my place to judge. You can have sex with all the strange men you want. Anyway, I walked in on you and that guy and you were naked and you were probably about to have sex because I cannot think of anything else a man and woman would do naked in the dark, but that might just be my inexperience talking. That doesn't really matter. What matters is that you were gone months and months and when you come back, I charge into your room and yell about arresting you. I'm a terrible housecarl."

At the end of her rant, the girl threw back her head and started to bawl in earnest.

"Oh goodness. Look, um," Diana paused. She suddenly couldn't remember this girl's name. Jordan? Joldi? "Look, dear, it's okay. You were just trying to protect your home. I cannot fault you for that."

"Really, my thane?" the girl sniffed. She looked up at Diana, hope shining in her eyes. "You're not going to send me away?"

"No," Diana answered, mentally wishing she could. "I haven't been able to successfully send a housecarl away yet. Now, how about we tuck you into bed, get some sleep, and maybe talk about this in the morning when we're rested?"

When the housecarl hung her head in shame, Diana asked, "What's wrong?"

"I don't have a bed," the girl admitted.

"What do you mean you don't have a bed?" Diana repeated, the anger in her voice making the room shake. Jordis flinched from the action.

"My room is empty. Well, there are boxes in there, but they aren't mine and I don't know where to put them."

"Show me," Diana demanded.

The two women went downstairs and Jordis showed Diana to her room. The Imperial's eyes widened in horror when she took in the sight. This was not a room someone should be living it. She remembered that it had been the room they had kept Commander Maro in when Babette tortured the Pentius Oculatus leader to find out where Titus Mede II was. Shivers ran down her spine at the memory.

"You've been living like this for the last nine months?" she asked, aghast.

"It's not so bad most of the time," Jordis said humbly. "During the day, I stay upstairs. I clean or read or train. It's just at night. Well, the floor is hard." It wrenched Diana's heart that the Nord was trying too hard to sound like she wasn't complaining.

"Why didn't you say anything sooner?" Diana asked plaintively.

"You weren't here. Aventus is rarely here. Or when you two are, you're both so busy that I forget to say anything."

"This won't do at all," Diana muttered as she nibbled on the end of her thumbnail. "Come on."

"Where are we going, my thane?"

"You can sleep in Aventus' bed tonight if that doesn't bother you."

"My thane is so smart!" Jordis beamed.

* * *

**Tirdas 16 Midyear 205 4E 1:30 AM**

Cicero was lying on top of the bed wearing only his loincloth. He had disrobed the rest of his motley and put it away with Hecate's in one of the dressers when his Listener had gone downstairs to deal with the housecarl. It was unlikely that the girl would come back in here tonight, but it was better to be safe. The jester image was quickly becoming linked with the Brotherhood thanks to his Listener's actions, and it wouldn't do for their allies to know the truth.

A shadow fell across the bed and when Cicero looked up he could see the silhouette of his Listener in the doorway. The jester smiled widely as he stretched across the bed in his most seductive pose. "Welcome back, my Listener," he cooed. "Cicero was hoping he wouldn't be left alone in this big, cold bed."

A sob tore from the Listener as she hurled herself onto the bed and wrapped her arms around the Keeper. Cicero mentally sighed as he hugged the weeping woman. He had suspected that she would come back in this state. His lovely Listener couldn't stand to see others in pain.

"I'm a terrible person," Hecate wailed as she curved into the crook of her Keeper's arm.

"Did you kill the girl?" Cicero asked. That would have been unexpected.

"No," the Listener said.

"Did you threaten or hit her?"

"No."

"Call her names? Tell her that she's fat?"

"Now you're just being silly," Hecate scowled, looking at Cicero with bloodshot eyes. At least she wasn't crying any more. "The poor girl has been sleeping on the floor for these last nine months."

Cicero snorted. "Sounds like her own fault to Cicero."

"I'm a bad person because I didn't know," Hecate insisted as she pounded her fists on Cicero's chest. "I should have checked on her. She's my responsibility."

"Listener," Cicero said laughing. "We just killed an entire fort full of men and this is what made you feel like a bad person?"

"That's different," she grumbled, her forehead wrinkling in thought. "We were assigned to do that."

"Oh really?" Cicero pretended to ponder the idea. "Cicero recalls a Black Sacrament for the captain. Were there more Black Sacraments that poor Cicero was unaware of, hm?"

"No," Hecate admitted, trying to not giggle.

"Then letting a foolish Nord sleep on the floor for a few months hardly compares, does it?"

"Ah, my wise Fool," Hecate smiled as she nuzzled the Keeper. "You always make me feel better."

"Cicero must Keep his Listener," the Fool grinned. He leaned forward and kissed the Listener, picking up where they had been interrupted before.

"The girl might hear us," Hecate stammered.

"Cicero recalls this place having very thick walls," Cicero murmured. "Besides, I doubt she'll make the same mistake of barging in on us again tonight."

* * *

**Tirdas 16 Midyear 205 4E 10:00 AM**

"Why, Diana, what do we owe the pleasure of your company?" Jarl Elisif the Fair asked.

After getting up and grabbing breakfast with Cicero and the housecarl, Diana had given him a list of items to pick up from the blacksmiths while she ran to visit the Blue Palace.

"I was in town and thought I should visit," Diana smiled cheerfully. "Seeing you always makes my day a bit brighter."

"You flatterer," Elisif laughed.

The two women shared small talk for a bit. They both carefully did not mention the war to each other. Both had strong reasons to avoid that topic. Elisif never liked discussing her husband's murderer and Diana couldn't deal with the pain of Lydia's betrayal.

"You should come and see us more often," Elisif insisted.

"I'll try, but it's difficult," Diana hedged. "We're both pretty busy."

"I would always make time for you, my friend," Elisif smiled, making Diana's knees weak.

After leaving the jarl, Diana searched for her steward, Falk Firebeard. "You were supposed to decorate the entire house!" she snapped. "My housecarl has been without a bed the entire time."

"Why didn't anyone inform me?" Falk shot back. "I can't fix a problem I am unaware of."

"No one told me either," Diana huffed. "Given that was the case, you may wish to train better housecarls. Meek is fine in some situations, but being able to take initiative can be just as important."

"Like your last housecarl?" Falk said sharply. When Diana's face fell into one of misery, he immediately regretted his words. "Forgive me. That was unfair."

"I want the house properly stocked," Diana growled. "I expect to get what I paid for. In fact, since my delivery has been delayed for so long, here's an adjustment I want done." Diana gave the steward a written list of changes and with that she left him.

As she was about to walk out of the front door of the Blue Palace, the portal swung open to reveal General Tullius. The man looked good despite currently losing the war against the Stormcloaks. Maybe because his hair had turned silver a long time ago and his face was already wrinkled from years of countless battles, it was hard to tell if the ravages of war had affected him.

"Ah, Dragonborn," he said in way of greeting. "What brings you to our fair city today?"

"Just dropping by, General," she said stiffly. Diana had never had much of a relationship with Tullius. Although he had been there during Helgen, she had never begrudged him for it. Her near-execution had been because of a harried captain who had died that day, revenge enough for her. Still, they had little in common and the general was too prone to ask her to join his army instead of being happy with niceties.

"I heard you got married. Congratulations," Tullius said. "When will I have the honor of meeting him?"

"Not today I'm afraid," Diana said shaking her head. "He's in the market right now picking up some necessities. Maybe the next time we're in the capital for a ball."

"I'd love to meet him," Tullius said. "I have been wondering what kind of man would capture the eye of a Dragonborn."

"I'll be sure to let him know," Diana chuckled. "Now, I must be on my way."

"Feel free to come by Castle Dour any time," Tullius insisted.

"Yeah, right," Diana grumbled. She doubted either man would like the other very much. Tullius was too serious and Cicero was too inane. Undoubtedly both men would immediately hate each other and that was something Diana would rather not have to deal with.

* * *

**Tirdas 16 Midyear 205 4E 10:30 AM**

"Then he stood up and looked the man in the eye and said, 'Fuck you, clown,'" Cicero laughed as he ended his joke.

Jordis fairly screamed with laughter. It was so naughty of the Dragonborn's husband to swear like that, especially since they were in the marketplace, but it was so funny too.

She was really glad that the man she had found in her thane's bed last night was her husband. And she really liked how nice Cicero was to her. He had remembered her name, unlike Diana who kept calling her Jordan all morning. And he had asked her to accompany him to buy some things while her thane was at the palace.

Jordis had wanted to accompany her thane as was appropriate, but Diana had left without a word. She had looked a little mad this morning too, so maybe it had been a good idea to not go with her.

"Well, let's go shopping, shall we?" he had asked as they had piled the dirty dishes in the sink. He winked slyly at her. "As soon as we get these dishes clean. They don't clean themselves."

Cicero and she had chattered the whole time as they cleaned up. He had asked her questions about her life before becoming a housecarl and what her likes were. Then when they went to the market, he had insisted that she buy something for herself. Jordis had picked some perfume because she liked the way it smelled.

"I hope you don't begrudge my sweet Diana," Cicero said suddenly. "I think she would have been kinder to you, or at least more aware of your needs, if it hadn't been what happened with her and Lydia."

"What happened?" Jordis asked around a mouthful of sweetroll that Cicero had bought her.

"Did anyone tell you?" Cicero asked. Jordis shook her head no. "Lydia was her housecarl from Whiterun. They were very close. But Diana had to go away and didn't get a chance to tell Lydia. Poor Lydia thought she was dead and it made her very sad. She ended up joining Ulfric's army thinking that she would honor her thane's memory, but it was the worst thing she could have done. Now they are bitter enemies."

"That's sad," Jordis said softly.

"It is very, very sad," Cicero agreed. "That's why she can't allow herself to get to know you. Because she's afraid she'll get to like you and you remind her too much of Lydia. So she keeps you at arm's length. Not just to protect herself, but to protect you too. She feels she ruined Lydia and she doesn't want that to happen again."

The two of them ascended the stairs to Proudspire Manor with Jordis deep in thought. She had to prove she was a good housecarl to Thane Diana. She just had to.

"We're home!" Cicero called out in a sing-song voice as they put away their purchases.

"Welcome back!" Diana responded as she descended. She came over and kissed Cicero on the cheek. "Did you find everything I needed?"

"Yes, yes," Cicero fussed. "Of course. Cic- I always get whatever you need done, don't I?"

"Hm, usually," Diana agreed as she hugged him. Jordis thought they looked like the perfect couple together. "Oh, Jordan, I need to talk to you."

"Her name is Jordis," Cicero corrected.

"Hmph, why didn't you tell me?" Diana asked, looking irritated.

"I didn't mind," Jordis said. "Whatever my thane wishes to call me, I'll answer to."

"Please speak up in the future," Diana scowled. "And that's an order. Goodness. Anyway, come with me."

The trio descended to the basement level. "I feel we've gotten off on the wrong foot," Diana started. Jordis felt nervous. The phrase "We need to talk" was the worst phrase in the world. "Each side had certain assumptions about the other. That has to change. I will not have a housecarl who is sleeping on the floor. It makes me look bad."

Oh, here it comes. She was going to give Jordis the axe, hopefully not literally.

"So, I went to Falk Firebeard and told him I wanted that furniture and I wanted it today. Thankfully, it arrived while you were gone." Diana threw open the door to Jordis' room to reveal a fully furnished room.

There was a closet, a full length mirror, a full array of cosmetics, and a bed! It wasn't just a single sized bed either. It looked big enough for at least three people and had a beautiful canopy over it. It dominated the room, but Jordis didn't mind in the slightest.

"Oh, thank you, my thane!" she squealed as she grabbed Diana into a tight bear hug. The smaller Imperial woman grunted at the force of her housecarl's grip.

"There's a condition," Diana wheezed as she broke Jordis' grasp. "You have to write to me once a week to update me on what is going on here and how you are doing." She gave the younger woman a piece of paper. "Just send it here. I'm not always there, but I'll receive anything you send me eventually. I'll try to write back whenever I can."

Jordis carefully tucked the piece of paper away as Diana continued. "Also, I set up an account for you at the exchequer's. I should have given you an allowance when you were first assigned, so I put back pay for you. That is your money to use as you wish. You will also receive additional funds every month from my personal account."

The Nord burst into tears at all of this. It was much more than she could have hoped. "You're the best thane I've ever served under," she gushed.

"Although I suspect I'm the only thane you've worked for, thank you," Diana smiled. "We're going to head out too, but if you need anything that cannot wait, then just talk to Aventus and he'll take care of you."

Jordis thought she would fairly explode with happiness.

"Is there anything else you need?" Diana asked.

"No, no, I'm fine," Jordis said.

"Good," Diana said with a nod. "We're going to head out now. I look forward to your letter."

The Dragonborn gave the housecarl a hug and swept out of the house. Cicero bowed and kissed Jordis's hand which made her giggle. He winked and followed his wife.

Once they were gone, Jordis climbed onto the bed. She spread out on the comforter, enjoying how soft and warm it felt. The girl glanced from side to side, making sure no one was around. Then she stood up on the bed and jumped up and down, pouncing on the springs.

She screamed with delight for the longest time.

After a while the screams turned into gales of laughter.


	3. Lydia's Story - Part 1

**Middas 17 Midyear 205 4E 11:30 AM**

Ralof hated doing patrol. It was dull compared to fighting on the battlefield and he detested talking to the different superior officers. Most of them weren't trained for their ranks and still thought that simply being the best warrior on the field was good enough to justify their position when in reality they needed to know how to train their men to be better fighters and how to encourage morale with the right words in the right place. Thus, Ralof often ended up in the captain's tent listening to old stories of glory with many tankards of mead instead of reviewing troop positions.

At least he was almost done. He just had to visit Fort Hraggstad, talk to Captain Sifkni, and review the troop roster before heading back to the Palace of the Kings to report to Regent Lydia Stormblade. If the numbers looked good, then they could finalize plans to take Solitude. The civil war would be over and Ulfric Stormcloak's memory would be honored as Skyrim was finally returned to her true sons and daughters.

Ulfric Stormcloak had taken almost four years to gain this much territory. Part of it was because of his careful planning - he never threw men away on pointless skirmishes - but a large part of their success was credited to the Stormblade. Lydia possessed the power of the thu'um thanks to her heritage as the Dragonborn, a Nordic hero of legend long before her birth. There were many prophecies regarding the ancient art of Shouting, the ability to absorb dragon souls, and the destiny to destroy the World-Eater.

Alduin had been the bane of humanity back in the Merethic Era when dragons had ruled over humans as if they were cattle and Alduin had ruled over the dragons. It had taken the bravery of the Tongues to face him in combat and destroy him. Unfortunately, like a bad septim, the creature had returned. Alduin had not truly died for he was as immortal as his father, the Dragon God Akatosh. Instead he had been caught in something called a Time Wound, bound there until certain elements of prophecy were to be fulfilled.

When he had returned, so had other dragons, resurrected by the vile wyrm himself. Skyrim was already torn in half and the added danger of flying magical monsters had made life even harder. They were almost impossible to kill and not without a few casualties. That was on a good day. There had been entire villages lost to the creatures, leaving behind a few charred homes, limbless men and women, and newly orphaned children.

Then the promised Dragonborn emerged after she had devoured the soul of a dragon in Whiterun when one attacked their Western Watchtower. Lydia, along with a nameless companion, had traveled across all of Skyrim saving both Imperial and Stormcloak towns from dragons.

Most people didn't even know her by face or name for she rarely stayed very long after destroying the monsters before moving on to the next village. They mostly remembered her gleaming dragon scale armor. It was a suit of beautiful craftsmanship and utterly unique in construction. Some scholars said it had echoes of Akaviri design, poetically appropriate given they were ancient dragonslayers known for their _kiai_, battle cries similar to the Nordic ability.

At some point near the beginning of the year in 202, the Dragonborn decided to take the fight to Alduin in his secret lair to defeat him once and for all. Appropriately enough, the final battle took place in Sovngarde amongst the legendary heroes of old. The beast had been gaining strength from devouring the souls of heroes so he could eventually consume all of reality. Fearlessly, Lydia had faced the black dragon in one-on-one combat. It had been a long, weary fight, but in the end the Dragonborn had triumphed and the heavens had shaken at her victory.

When she returned to Nirn, the Dragonborn immediately decided to join the struggle for Skyrim, a task that she had put to the side while saving reality from the World-Eater. She had accompanied an Imperial messenger from Whiterun, unaware that the woman was going to deliver an ultimatum to Jarl Ulfric from Jarl Balgruuf the Greater indicating that either Ulfric forsake his cause or Balgruuf would give his axe to the Imperials.

Jarl Ulfric had ejected the two women from the Palace of kings, thinking that the Dragonborn had sided with the Imperials. She had returned later and explained that she had been given false pretenses for her presence in escorting the Imperial. Lydia had been told by Jarl Balgruuf personally that she was to help negotiate a peace treaty when in reality she had been used to look like she had sponsored the Imperial side. Up to that point the Dragonborn had remained neutral in the war, but after seeing the true underside of the Empire, she had realized their influence was not only unwanted but corrupt, and had signed up to join the Stormcloaks.

Their first goal had been to take Whiterun. It was a central hold with access to many vital trade routes. Whoever held it essentially would win the war and it was vital to take it before the Imperials could move their troops there in force. Despite it being a winter campaign, the Stormcloaks had taken it easily with the Dragonborn fighting by their side. After that, they had known nothing but victory.

Until Ulfric Stormcloak had been murdered.

"General Ralof, sir, there's someone on the road," a Stormcloak soldier said, pulling Ralof out of his thoughts.

Ahead of the patrol, about five hundred feet, Ralof could make out a lone Stormcloak soldier. As they drew closer, Ralof noticed that the Stormcloak looked young, very young. His armor was covered in splatters of blood and he was oddly barefoot. The boy didn't even look at them as he stared blankly at the sky. His eyes were opened wide enough to show the whites and he had a grotesque grin on his face.

Ralof dismounted and approached the boy carefully. The child had the haunted eyes of someone who had seen something too horrific to describe. Battle-shock. It happened from time to time when a slaughter occurred, but there had been no battles recently.

"Private, report," Ralof said firmly.

The boy turned so he was facing Ralof. "I have to report to Windhelm," he said vaguely. "I have to warn them."

"Warn them of what?" Ralof prodded.

"They're all dead," the boy said. A single tear ran down his cheek, but his facial expression didn't change at all. "Fort Hraggstad is routed."

"The Imperials?" Ralof asked.

"No, worse. The Brotherhood," the boy answered. He swallowed. "They were death itself. And when death came, it came as laughter on the wind."

* * *

**Loredas 20 Midyear 205 4E 7:30 PM**

"Then they told me to tell you that it was a message," Saeda said dully as he recounted the massacre of Fort Hraggstad. "That nothing will stop them and no one was safe from their grasp."

Lydia shifted from her sitting position on the stone throne so she was leaning forward with her hand chin resting in her steepled hands. "Did you get a good look at either of these assassins?" she asked.

"No, I'm sorry," Saeda said. Although it had been three days since Ralof found him on the road, he still looked disheveled. Saeda felt that no level of bathing would make him feel clean again. Death had touched him and left its mark burned on his soul. "I know they were a man and a woman. They wore masks. Terrible masks. The woman said they were comedy and tragedy, but they looked like screaming daedra to me."

"Thank you for your report," Lydia said with a warm smile. It only made Saeda feel worse. He didn't deserve the kindness that the Dragonborn was showing him. "I'd like for you to stay around for a while in case I have any more questions. Calder!" One of the residential housecarls stepped forward. "I'm assigning you to Saeda. Protect him as you would me."

"Yes, my jarl," he said, saluting.

"Regent," Lydia reminded him. "I am merely a regent of Windhelm. Both of you are dismissed."

As the two men bowed and left the grand hall of the Palace of the Kings, Ralof and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced approached the throne. Yrsarald was a high ranking officer in the Stormcloak army and had often reported to Ulfric in the war room. He had become Lydia's right hand man these last few months and without him she would have truly floundered. "Why did you assign a housecarl to a lowly private?" he asked. "That is usually a privilege for jarls and thanes."

"Because Saeda is a dead man walking," Lydia said as she watched the retreating figures. "Couldn't you see it in his eyes? Even if the Brotherhood honors their word to not kill him, I fear he may take his own life."

"They're a poisonous blight on this land," Ralof hissed. "Damn them. Like skeevers, getting into everything and where you least want them."

"What about this magic the woman seemed to possess?" Yrsarald asked. "I've never heard of a spell that teleported people before. Do you think it is some sort of blessing given to them by Sithis?"

"I shudder to imagine that possibility," Ralof growled, shaking his head.

"I don't know," Lydia said, but the truth was she recognized the description of the Whirlwind Sprint Shout. Diana had used it countless times when they used to go to the market. Always impatient her thane had been. It seemed it was a trait she had carried over to her new life as the Brotherhood's leader. "Maybe Wuunferth can tell us more. Mages are always coming up with new spells to outdo each other."

"This is going to put us back severely," Yrsarald growled. "Losing Fort Hraggstad is a huge blow to our plans. We needed that fort to safely take Solitude. We should have moved sooner, Lydia."

"Days lost lamenting lost days," Lydia responded. "We cannot change what has happened. Ulfric would have wanted for us to wait for the good weather before making our final move. I tried to save lives and instead only lost them. That is one of the prices of war, my friend.

"Ralof, I want you to go over our roster. Determine how many men we can afford to move to the front lines. I don't see any reason we can't continue this war. Let the Empire use its poisoned blades if it wishes. We knew they were honorless dogs when this fight began. Nothing has changed."

The blonde nodded before leaving to follow orders.

"Yrsarald, I want you to deliver a message for me," Lydia said as she stood. "It won't be easy. You'll have to travel through Forsworn territory. Take as many men as you need."

"Who would you need to deliver a message to in the Reaches, my regent?" the officer asked.

"A powerful ally," Lydia responded. "If the Brotherhood is going to be a problem, we're going to need a counter solution. I cannot afford to use resources to retrain our men to deal with assassins. These people will be exactly who we need to deal with these vermin while we focus on the bigger issues at hand."

"I'll gather a squad and head out first thing in the morning," Yrsarald said, as he saluted by pressing his fist against his chest.

"Excellent," Lydia said as she descended the steps of the throne. "I'm going to retire for the night. See that I'm not disturbed."

"As you wish, my regent."

The walk to the master bedroom always felt much longer than it really was. Maybe it was because it still felt like Ulfric's and not hers. Everything about that room screamed of the dead man. Its simple decorations, the small trophies that graced the shelves, it even still smelled like him months later.

Lydia sighed as she pulled off the wolf fur cloak that had been Ulfric's and placed it on the mannequin in the corner. She had started wearing it after he died. It had been a good symbolic gesture that he would have approved of. It also helped explained why she no longer wore the dragon scale armor.

Officially, she had retired it as it was no longer needed to bring the faithful together under the Stormcloak banner. Her name and face were famous now and she would rather honor the memory of their original leader instead of her dragonslayer heritage.

The bitter truth was that she had lost that precious armor. It had been stripped off her immobile body by the very person she had sacrificed everything for – Diana. Or Hecate as she called herself now. And she was no longer the Dragonborn, but the Listener, the leader of the Dark Brotherhood.

Lydia fell wearily onto the too big bed and threw one arm over her eyes as she remembered her first encounter with the Dark Brotherhood. It had been years ago when she was still just a housecarl and Diana was her thane.

* * *

**Morndas 23 Morning Star 202 4E 9:00 AM**

"Can I help you?" Lydia asked dryly.

"I have a message for the lady of the house," the courier said politely. He held out a folded piece of parchment. "Is that you?"

"No," Lydia said, shaking her head. "However, I can give it to her."

"Sorry, the recipient's hands only," the courier grinned. "Rules you know."

Lydia looked over her shoulder to where her thane was currently soaking in the bath tub. The Imperial had one leg raised in the air as she scrubbed it. "I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn cooomes," she sang off tune, her voice breaking on the last syllable.

"She's unavailable right now," Lydia said, returning her attention to the courier. "You'll just have to give it to me."

"I really can't," the courier insisted.

"Who is it, Lydia?" Diana called.

"A courier, my thane," Lydia shot back. She moved so the door swung further open so Diana could see the man.

As expected, the Imperial screamed and ducked under the lip of the bath.

"Maybe I should give it to you," the courier conceded as he handed the piece of paper to Lydia.

"Smart man," she remarked as she closed the door.

"That was mean," Diana pouted from the tub. "Did you really have to do that?"

"He was being stubborn," Lydia said with a shrug as she flipped open the letter. Her face fell as she read it. "Is this some sort of joke?"

"What? What does it say?" Diana asked.

"One moment," Lydia muttered as she turned and ran out the door.

The courier hadn't gone very far from Breezehome and Lydia easily caught up with him. The Nord grabbed him and shook him. "Who gave this to you?" she shouted.

"I don't know!" the courier cried. He had not been prepared for a tall angry woman to burst out of a house and grab him. "Some mysterious fellow. Wore a dark cloak."

"And you didn't think that was weird?" Lydia growled.

"He paid a lot of money," the courier said defensively. "It's not my job to ask why someone wants to have a message delivered. Or their taste of clothes for that matter. I just deliver the mail."

"Next time you get a good look at who your client is," Lydia hissed, "because if you deliver something like that again here with such useless answers, I'll use your entrails for dragon bait. Do you understand me?"

"Y-yes, yes ma'am," the courier exclaimed. Privately he promised himself to never come back to this house. Maybe this town if he could manage it.

"Get out of my sight," Lydia barked as she shoved the courier away. The man fell on his back, but he didn't waste any time scrambling to his feet and running for the gates.

The housecarl looked down at the piece of paper that was now crumpled in her hand. She unfolded it again and looked at the simple message.

"We know."

Dominated by a black handprint. The symbol of the Dark Brotherhood.

Who would think this sick idea was funny? Diana didn't have any enemies that Lydia could think of. Everyone loved the carefree Imperial, a fact that sometimes drove Lydia crazy with jealousy, but a good one to know when she was your charge to protect.

Diana couldn't be allowed to see this. She was already scared that she was going to die because of a reading Olava the Feeble had done for her the previous day. She didn't need to know some toothless assassin's guild was supposedly coming after her.

Lydia stalked over to the forge of Warmaiden's. Adrienne was out for lunch right now, so no one was nearby. Lydia threw the note into the hot coals. It curled up and quickly charred into black ash.

When the housecarl returned to Breezehome, Diana was standing in the middle of the room with a towel wrapped around her. Her long black hair trailed all the way down her back, dripping onto the wooden floor. "Where did you go?" Diana asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"Oh," Lydia laughed, trying to sound casual. There was no reason to concern her thane with the note. "It turns out that stupid courier delivered the message to the wrong house. How stupid can you get it?"

"Weird," Diana smiled. "As long as it gets where it's supposed to go, right?"

"Nothing for us to worry about," Lydia nodded.

* * *

**Loredas 11 Sun's Dawn 202 4E 8:00 AM**

Lydia woke with the worst headache ever. It felt like Eorlund Gray-Mane was pounding away at the Skyforge. She opened her eyes and was temporarily confused. This wasn't her room in Breezehome. She rubbed her temple as she sat up.

Slowly, she recalled that she was at the Candlehearth in Windhelm. She and Diana had been assigned by Jarl Balgruuf to deliver an axe to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The jarl had a private conversation with Diana before publically denouncing Jarl Balgruuf for siding with the Imperials. He had then used a Shout on her thane, throwing the woman out of his palace. Guards had bodily thrown Lydia out next.

Diana had slunk back to the Candlehearth, sullen and mute, and started drinking heavily through the night. It was unusual for Lydia's usually chipper and vocal thane and it had worried her although she had concealed her concern.

Finally after hours of watching her thane drinking and mulling, Lydia had spoken up when a barmaid had offered to refill the Imperial's tankard. "No. My thane, you've had enough I believe."

Diana ignored her as she idly pushed her circlet back and forth on the ground like a child's hoop. "This silent treatment is getting tiresome," Lydia had said with her forehead in hand. "It's late, why don't we retire and get a good night's sleep?"

Diana had lifted her blue eyes up to Lydia and held up a hand with one finger extended. A silent request for one more drink. Before Lydia could answer the request, Diana's expression had turned to one of absolutely fury. The local Dunmer bard had started singing "The Age of Oppression", a war propaganda song that favored Ulfric Stormcloak's cause. Her thane had hurled her tankard at the bard. Thankfully, it had missed, but it had also shattered against the wall.

"The guard will know of this," the Dunmer had threatened as she ran down the stairs to alert the innkeeper of the attempt at assault. Diana had flipped a rude gesture to her retreating back. Lydia had stifled a groan at the action. They really didn't need to instigate the local guards. She doubted that they would be willing to look the other way right now since Diana had fallen out with Ulfric.

"I suppose I got back just in time," the maid said, raising one eyebrow. Lydia hadn't even noticed that she had slipped away. "It looks like you're out of drink." She handed a mug to Diana before offering one to Lydia who accepted. Nords rarely refused alcohol and one cup before retiring for bed would not interfere with her duty. By the Nine, with the day she had, a drink was exactly what she needed before going to bed.

Diana had raised the mug in mock salute and downed the contents in one gulp. Lydia had followed suit, eager to crawl into her bed. That was the last thing Lydia remembered before blacking out.

Now she was sprawled on her bed in the inn, still fully clothed in her armor. She never did that. She never blacked out, especially from one single drink, and she never slept in her armor accidentally. A warrior's life was dependent upon her armor and weapon and Lydia always took care of both accordingly.

After Lydia rubbed her eyes to help her clear them, she saw something on the dresser next to the bed that made her heart stop. A cutting of Nightshade. An assassin's calling card. Lydia hadn't thought of the mysterious note since it had shown up weeks ago, but suddenly it was the only thing she could think of.

"My thane," she gasped as she scrambled to the door.

Lydia threw open the door to her room and crashed to the room across the hall that Diana had rented. She had been prepared to kick the door in if necessary. Even if it meant Diana sleepily looking at her like she had lost her mind, Lydia didn't care. Better that than her worst fear.

For a brief moment, Lydia was overjoyed to see that there was no slit throat corpse of her charge. But as she took in the rest of the scene, her grin faded into an expression of shock. The bed was made, something Lydia thought Diana was completely incapable of doing on her own. Another note rested on the pillows with another cutting of Nightshade holding it down.

Lydia swallowed hard as she approached the note. She didn't want to read it, but ignoring an unpleasant fact didn't make it any less true.

"Another soul for Sithis."

With that damned black handprint stamped over it again.

It was impossible to breathe. Lydia's chest constricted as if a dragon had wound its tail around her and started to squeeze, threatening to break her into a million pieces. She had failed her thane. Not on a battlefield, not while fighting draugr, not while stopping a dragon from threatening a village, and not even while driving bandits away while the adventurers slept in their camp.

"Focus, focus," Lydia chanted quietly. There was no body. Why would the Brotherhood take the body? Maybe they wanted to torture her thane for information. It wasn't impossible. The Brotherhood was rumored to kill to any specification the client wanted. Maybe someone wanted to know more about the Blades or about being Dragonborn. She couldn't imagine there was much more Diana would know about, but she had never imagined someone would want the other woman dead.

They had gotten out of countless tight spots over the last several months. Diana had a gift for getting into trouble. She rarely had to go looking for it either. It just seemed to like to land on her lap. But she had always stumbled onto her feet safely time and time again.

Lydia ran out of the Inn, ignoring the startled stares as she ran past. She tore off down the bridge to the local stables. She found her mount there, safe and content in his stall, seemingly uncaring for anything in the world. But Diana's horse was gone.

"The other horse that was next to mine," Lydia snapped at the owner, an Altmer male who was cleaning another stall. "Where did he go?"

"Dunno," the man said noncommittally. "I was asleep last night. Whoever took him out didn't alert me. I guess they had to leave here in a hurry."

"Who? Who was in charge of the horses last night?" Lydia was on the edge of screaming.

"Arivanya," he stammered, picking up on Lydia's panic. "She's my wife. She could have attended to any late night visitors. I'll get her for you." The Altmer scrambled away, eager to be out of reach of the frantic Nord.

When the two returned, Arivanya looked displeased, but that was typical for most Altmer. "What is this all about?" she asked stiffly.

"The horse that was in this stall," Lydia demanded, pointing to the offending empty space. "Who took him out of here?"

"I don't know her, but it was a blonde woman. Nord, I think, but I have a hard time telling you Men apart," the elf grumbled. "She had the appropriate chit for it. I had no reason to question her. People leave and come at all hours around here."

"What about a black-haired Imperial woman?" Lydia asked, hopeful. Maybe Diana had been approached by someone for help last night and had left. She couldn't think of a reason why her thane would go without her, but she clung to the hope.

"I only saw the one," Arivanya shrugged. "Sorry."

Lydia was sorely tempted to leap on the taller woman and beat her until her face was bloody. Flippant, uncaring, lazy elves! Instead, she tossed her own token to the male elf. "I'm taking my horse," she growled. "If you hear anything from an Imperial named Diana, you make sure she knows I'm waiting at home for her." As she mounted her horse, she turned the animal around so she was facing the elves. "You make damn sure you let her know."

Lydia dug her heels into her mount and started riding as fast as she could back to Whiterun. If anything had happened to Diana, she would return to Breezehome. They had been separated before. It was rare and unpleasant, but it happened. A bridge fell down. Diana wanted to do a mission on her own. A crowd of people pushed them apart. But no matter what, time and time again, they had been reunited at Breezehome.

Sometimes Lydia would be munching on a loaf of bread or she would be resting in her room, but sooner or later Diana would burst into the house with her joyful laughter and the two of them would go off on another adventure.

It was just a matter of time before she came home.

But she never did.


	4. Lydia's Story - Part 2

**Turdas 29 First Seed 202 4E 4:00 PM**

"That woman's servant has been staying at the Candlehearth Inn for two weeks now," Galmar growled.

Ulfric didn't need to ask who "that woman" was. Galmar hated the Dragonborn with a passion and refused to use her name whenever possible. He didn't even like to use her title and avoided it also. She constantly had questioned his presence and had talked down to the housecarl constantly. There had been no love lost between those two when she had rejected Ulfric's offer to join the Stormcloak army. Galmar had been particularly pleased when she had been ejected from the Palace of the Kings on her last visit and subsequently banished from the city for her alliance to Whiterun.

"Has there been any sign of the Dragonborn?" Ulfric asked. He was surprised at the news. Surely he had wounded the Dragonborn's pride enough that she wouldn't dare to show her face here again. Maybe when the war was over she would return, but not a day before then.

"None," Galmar admitted gruffly. "It worries me. Those two are practically joined at the hip. Despite her heritage as an Imperial, she rarely allowed her housecarl out of her sight, unless she had wanted to be alone with you." Galmar smirked at the memory. Ulfric had done an outstanding job of appealing to that woman's ego. She had really believed that the Bear of Eastmarch had wanted to bed her simply because of her personality and not because of her political usefulness. "Even then she has usually just assigned her housecarl to wait outside the door. I don't like not knowing where that Imperial might be. Who knows what she is planning."

"What has Lydia been doing since she's arrived?" Ulfric asked as he turned away from the large table that held a map of Skyrim and the strategic outposts of his troops. Galmar was right in that it was a concern not knowing where Diana was.

Not only did she tend to go places she wasn't supposed to – Ulfric had not forgotten the time she had skulked around Windhelm disguised as a priestess of Talos – but now she had a personal vendetta against him. Before she had been playful in trying to get his attention, but now she was likely to be vengeful. Not only had she been publically ridiculed, but she had found out that Ulfric had only befriended her for her status as the Dragonborn. A woman scorned was a woman to be feared.

"That's the weird part," Galmar snorted. "She's been down at the market, roaming around most of the day before returning to Candlehearth Inn. She then spends most of her evenings in the loft, rarely drinking, but often talking and befriending the locals. Rolff likes her. Probably because of all the mead she's provided him."

Rolff Stone-Fist was the local drunk, a burden and shame to Galmar since they were brothers. He claimed that he was unable to join the war effort given some old battle injuries, but it never stopped him from wandering into the Gray Quarter and harassing the residents. Most of the time the guards were able to turn a blind eye, but occasionally Rolff went over the line and discipline had to be meted out.

One time had been when he had unknowingly assaulted the Dragonborn during her first visit to Windhelm. Ulfric had been able to put a spin on it and threw Rolff with his faithful sidekick Angrenor Once-Honored into a jail cell for the night so they could sleep off their drunkenness. The Dragonborn had been very grateful at his assistance against those who had assaulted her. Despite the initial panic, Rolff's foolish behavior had been very profitable for Ulfric since it had given him the perfect opportunity to befriend the Imperial.

Given her training as a bodyguard, Lydia would have remembered the man, which made it even more bizarre that she had apparently befriended him. "Get Rolff and bring him here. I want to know what she's been saying," Ulfric commanded.

"I thought you would say that," Galmar grinned. "He's waiting in the great hall."

"I don't know what I would do without you, Galmar," Ulfric chuckled as he patted his friend on the back. The two men walked out to the great hall where Rolff was sitting at the grand dining table. Unsurprisingly, he was downing a mug of mead.

"Jarl Ulfric," Rolff said when he noticed the Bear of Eastmarch approaching. He scrambled to his feet and attempted a sloppy salute and mostly failing. Ulfric deigned to ignore it rather than allowing him to try again.

"At ease, Rolff," Ulfric said, making his tone as casual as possible. "I hear you have vital information for us."

"Um," Rolff stammered, looking at his brother for support.

"The jarl wants to know what Lydia of Whiterun has been talking to you about," Galmar snapped. There were days he wished he was an only child.

"Oh, yes, yes. Of course," Rolff answered, laughing a little too loudly. "She doesn't talk to me personally much. Mostly buys me drinks. Never the cheap stuff either. I've heard her talking to the Dunmer bard though. Asking if she's seen some woman named Diana. I've also seen her talking to the local beggars the same thing. Silda, the plainest face the Divines ever decided to chisel, frequently pockets coin from Lydia."

"Diana is missing?" Ulfric murmured as he rubbed his chin in thought. That was an interesting development. He had worried about her turning around and officially joining the Imperial Legion and the havoc it would have spread amongst his ranks after their falling out. He had been prepared to boost the men's morale with rousing speeches regarding why supporting him was more important than following the Dragonborn's lead.

Few would feel comfortable fighting against someone else who could command the thu'um. Ulfric's ability to Shout had always been one of his strongest attributes, so to have someone oppose them who could not only Shout, but learn it much faster than anyone alive was daunting.

It galled the jarl that he only knew the Way of the Voice and it would take years of isolation and mediation to learn only one word of a given Shout, especially since there were records from the Merethic Era that stated that the ancient Tongues could learn much faster. There had been entire armies composed of people who had master the thu'um. Ulfric didn't want to share the knowledge of the thu'um, but to be able to master that technique personally would have made him a one man army.

Just like how the Dragonborn could be a one man army.

"Rolff, what does the Dragonborn look like?" Ulfric asked suddenly. A plan was forming. It could be dangerous because if there as any backlash, his reputation would be damaged. But the plans with the greatest payoff usually had the greatest risk.

"Um," Rolff struggled to remember in his drunken haze. "She's got some really pretty armor. It glitters a bunch of different colors in the sun. Supposedly is made of dragon scale, but I think that's just a rumor."

"But what does she look like?" Ulfric pressed.

"I'm not good with faces," Rolff grumbled.

"Oh, for Talos' sake," Galmar shouted. "Just admit you don't remember or don't know. Ulfric won't get pissed at you for not knowing, but the jarl doesn't have time for your bullshitting."

"Okay, okay," Rolff flinched away from his brother just in case the other man decided to hit him. "I don't remember. I never really saw her that much and when she was around she was always wearing her armor. She's a Nord, right? Surely the Dragonborn is a Nord. After all Talos was a Nord and he was Dragonborn."

It was good enough for Ulfric. Granted, Rolff wasn't the sharpest axe on the rack, but as far as the lowest common denominator went, he was a good measuring stick. People hadn't remembered Diana, but they had remembered her armor.

"Rolff, thank you for your time. You've been a tremendous help," Ulfric said. The drunk broke into a huge grin at his jarl's praise. "Galmar, I need you to find Lydia and bring her here. She is to be treated as an honored guest. Do not, and I repeat do not, do anything that will make her skittish or scared. We want her to feel wanted and welcome here."

"What are you up to, Ulfric?" Galmar asked as he followed Ulfric from the great hall, leaving Rolff behind and forgotten. "I'm not sure I like that gleam in your eye."

"Only the greatest coup that Skyrim will never know happened," Ulfric crowed.

* * *

**Turdas 29 First Seed 202 4E 5:00 PM**

Lydia stood on the cold stone of the bridge that led to Windhelm City with her arms folded on the ledge. The White River churned with the spring runoff below her. Part of her mind wondered if Diana's body was hidden somewhere in the dark waters below. As always different scenarios ran through her head.

Her thane managed to escape her kidnapper, but was unable to make it back into the city with the safety of the guards. As she ran, she slipped on the ever present ice and fell into the cold waters below. No, surely her body would have surfaced by now if that had been the case.

Diana, killed after giving up whatever information the assassin had wanted, was weighed down with stones and tossed into the water. Her body still down there as slaughterfish nibbled on her flesh, or what remained of it. Possible, much too possible.

Lydia had waited in Whiterun for an entire month. During that time she barely left the house just in case her thane returned. Lydia didn't want to risk being out for a mug of ale or buying some vegetables and miss her. She could have left a note, but Diana sometimes got so wrapped up in her own thoughts, it was possible that she would just run past whatever parchment Lydia left out, grab whatever item she wanted, and take off again. Lydia didn't think it was likely, but she had never thought Diana would be snatched to begin with.

The days had dragged. Lydia had spent the first week cleaning the small house. It didn't really need it since they rarely were there, but it never hurt to dust everything off, make sure everything was organized (a feat Diana never managed to master), and resupply their pantry.

There had been a particularly bad moment when Lydia had opened the chest next to her thane's bed. Diana always threw the most random assortment of things in there. She claimed that she had a system and generally remembered what was in there, but she never could recall exactly what if pressed.

Inside was the sleeping gown she had worn their last night in Breezehome, cut neatly in half down the front. Diana had never explained exactly how that had happened, but given that they had offered shelter to a mad man, Lydia didn't need many details to know it had been that Cicero who had done it.

She had started shaking looking at that ruined cloth. There were times the Dark Brotherhood note had been a blessing. It didn't answer anything other than who had taken Diana, but at least it prevented too many other dark possibilities to enter her mind. She didn't have to wonder if Cicero had come looking for her to finish whatever sick, twisted game he had started. Like he had done with Loreius and his wife.

Diana might have half convinced herself that Cicero hadn't killed those people, but Lydia didn't believe in coincidences. They had been alive when she had left them and dead the next day while a spurned jester had waited for relief to arrive. Of course he had murdered them! And rather sadistically too.

But her thane always wanted to believe in the best in people. Lydia still told the tale of how they had tried to peacefully ask bandits to leave their lair the first time they had gone out on a mission together. It had been ridiculous to even try, but Diana had been insistent. That was how her thane was, always trying to find the least bloody path to success.

Of course, the bandits had refused, and one of them had the gall to urinate on the Imperial. Instead of slinking home in defeat, Diana had turned around and with Lydia's help slaughtered them to a man.

After an entire month, Lydia had to admit that Diana wasn't coming back. Her thane may have been flighty and careless in many ways, but she would have returned to Breezehome by then. She and Lydia always traveled together, side by side watching each other's back. No matter what had happened, she should have returned and told Lydia what had occurred so they could go kick someone's ass together.

Skyrim was a huge country. It was made of the tallest mountains, the deepest rivers, the widest lakes and endless plains. The odds of finding one person in the midst of all that were phenomenally impossible, but Lydia had to try. Because that's what you did; you brought the fallen home so they could be sent on to whatever afterlife their soul was destined for.

A small part of Lydia hoped that her thane was still alive. She didn't really believe it, not now, but without proof or a body all she had was hope.

The housecarl packed up her things, assuming she would never return. Without Diana here, there was no reason for Lydia to remain. This had always been their home together and without her charge it was only four walls. She stood for a moment to memorize the place before closing the door and locking it.

She had returned to Windhelm, unable to think of any other place to look. It was a terrible idea to think Diana might still be here; she had stated that she hated the city with a passion. But given no one had seen her leave and it was the last place she had been spotted, it was all Lydia had to go on.

A cold wind blew across the water. It stung bitterly on Lydia's face as she wiped the tears away. She was dishonored. Lost her one responsibility, not even able to find her corpse, and unable to extract revenge. The Dark Brotherhood was a whisper, a child's story to make the little ones behave. You couldn't kill an idea and that's all the murder cult was.

As she brushed her hair back, Lydia contemplated throwing herself into the cold waters below. What did she have left? She couldn't return to Whiterun. What could Balgruuf do with someone like her? She could never regain her honor, so Sovngarde was denied to her anyway. May as well go for Oblivion and hope that she found her thane at the bottom of the lake.

"You, girl," a deep voice growled.

Lydia turned and saw Galmar Stone-Fist approaching her. A squad of Stormcloaks followed him. He looked angry, but that was typical for the second-in-command. The two housecarls had spent a significant amount of time together when their masters had been on better terms and Lydia like to think she had gotten to know the man pretty well despite the fact she couldn't recall ever seeing him smile.

"Galmar," she answered politely, "what can I do for you?"

"You need to come to the Palace of the Kings with me immediately," he snapped. "Jarl Ulfric has requested an audience with you. Refusal is not an option."

"I'm not in trouble, am I?" Lydia asked, feeling very nervous. The last time she had seen Galmar, he had proclaimed that Diana was banished from Windhelm. That didn't strictly apply to her, but what if Ulfric had decided it should? What would she do then?

"No, no trouble," Galmar grimaced. Lydia suspected that he was trying to smile and failing badly. "My jarl simply wishes to discuss something with you privately. He has not deigned to let me know. Will you accompany me?" He gestured back towards the city.

"Of course," Lydia said as she fell into step behind Galmar. The Stormcloaks circled her, making her feel like a prisoner going to the block.

* * *

**Turdas 29 First Seed 202 4E 5:30 PM**

"Thank you for accepting my invitation," Ulfric Stormcloak said cheerfully as he embraced Lydia. Her heartbeat slowed a bit to see that he wasn't mad. The Bear of Eastmarch was infamous for his temper. "I hope Galmar didn't give you the impression that this was an interrogation or something similar? You looked a bit frayed when you came in."

"I won't deny I was nervous," Lydia said weakly.

Ulfric and Lydia were alone in the war room. Galmar had been dismissed after announcing her. Oddly enough he didn't look as sour as he had whenever he had been dismissed to allow Diana time alone with his jarl.

"Ah, Galmar is a good man and a damn fine soldier," Ulfric chuckled as he poured some mead. He offered a cup to Lydia who accepted it. It was common practice to offer food or drink to one's guest and for the guest to accept. It created a bond of hospitality and an unspoken promise of no aggression. "Unfortunately, he's terrible with people. He'll never make a decent diplomat."

"Thankfully that is a trait we housecarls don't need for our jobs," Lydia said with a ghost of a smile. "Irileth…"

"Yes?" Ulfric asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Oh, I," Lydia stammered, not sure how to continue. Irileth was the Dunmer housecarl of Balgruuf and Ulfric had a bit of a reputation of not liking elves. There was some controversy of the so-called Gray Quarters in his city where the Dark Elves lived.

"No need to feel shy," Ulfric chuckled as he drank from his mug. "I remember Irileth from when I was younger and visited Balgruuf. She was always scowling. I don't think I ever saw the woman smile."

Lydia giggled so hard that she snorted. She couldn't believe that Ulfric had echoed her own thoughts about Galmar when talking about Balgruuf's cranky housecarl.

"Ah, that's refreshing," Ulfric said. "I get so tired of seeing dour faces around me every day." His expression turned grim. "Unfortunately, I must ask you a rather dark question. Where is your mistress?"

Lydia stiffened at the query, not sure how to answer.

"If you are worried about the last time we met, don't be," Ulfric said, waving his hand dismissively. "I can't say I blame her for returning. If I had lost it, I would have come for it too. I just want to avoid any incidents of Diana trying to sneak in here and my guards attacking her over it."

"What are you talking about?" Lydia asked, bewildered.

"The Dragonborn's dragon scale armor," Ulfric said mildly. He walked over to a corner and pulled off a cloth to reveal a mannequin wearing the unique suit. "I thought you had returned to Windhelm to retrieve it. I assure you that there was no ill intent in my obtaining it. Some of my soldiers found it in the Pale about a month ago scattered on the roadside. I had them bring it here for safe keeping. I thought sooner or later that the Dragonborn would show up demanding it, but there's been no sign of her."

"Oh gods," Lydia gasped. The Pale? How had it gotten there?

"You seem surprised," Ulfric said carefully. "You weren't aware?"

"No," Lydia admitted, tears threatening to fall. "I don't know how it got there."

She couldn't stop thinking of the rumors of dragon attacks along Dawnstar. The port city was small enough and without walls that it would be a tempting target for the beasts. It was all too easy to imagine Diana charging off to deal with them on her own. She had always been reckless.

Lydia realized that she had thought of Diana in the past tense. She had been. Not she was. "Oh gods," she repeated before fainting.

* * *

**Turdas 29 First Seed 202 4E 8:30 PM**

When Lydia awoke, it was in a large, unfamiliar bed and it was dark. When she moved to pull the blanket away, a large hand clasped hers. "You should stay still. You've been out for several hours. I don't want you to collapse again."

The moonlight streaming into the room allowed Lydia to see Ulfric sitting next to the bed. The jarl looked concerned as he pulled the blanket back into place. "Diana is dead, isn't she?" he asked simply.

"Yes," Lydia admitted. She burst into tears with the confession. Huge sobs broke from her as she tried to cover her face.

Diana would never have abandoned her armor. It was her most prized possession. She hated for anyone else to touch it and had steadfastly refused to share the design with Adrianne despite being good friends with the blacksmith. She would spend hours on fixing small kinks or tears in the armor. She had to be dead for it to be abandoned like that.

Ulfric leaned forward and engulfed Lydia in a hug as she wept. He didn't say anything; he just held her and let her bury her face in his wolf cloak. When her crying jag passed, the material was soaked with her tears.

"What do you think happened?" Ulfric asked.

"A dragon," Lydia rasped, her voice raw from crying. "It had to have been a dragon. I had heard that Dawnstar has been suffering from attacks lately, but we had never had a chance to go because we were dealing with the Alduin threat."

"Balgruuf will need to be told," Ulfric said. "I'll make arrangements for the fastest carriage to take you back to Whiterun."

"No!" Lydia cried. "I can't go back. It's my fault. I lost track of her. If I hadn't, then she wouldn't be…" Even after finally admitting it, Lydia still couldn't say the words.

"I hardly doubt Balgruuf will blame you for the Dragonborn disappearing," Ulfric snorted. "He's shrewd enough to recognize the true nature of his thanes. It wouldn't surprise me if this wasn't the first time she had disappeared."

"But it was the first time the Dark Brotherhood was involved," Lydia confessed. She figured that she might as well admit to everything now that she had been caught. "After Diana left the Palace of the Kings, we went to the Candlehearth Inn to spend the night. When I woke up, there was only Nightshade and a note with the Brotherhood's trademark."

"The Dark Brotherhood? In my city?" Ulfric shouted. His voice caused the bed to rattle. "How dare they? As if I don't have enough troubles with a serial killer, civil unrest, and a war on my hands. Now I must worry about filthy assassins in the night?"

Lydia flinched at the jarl's reaction. She had seen Diana do the same thing on occasion when her temper flared. Things shuddered and shook at the power of the Voice. Ulfric noticed her response to his thu'um. "I'm not mad at you," he said gently. "Sometimes the burden of my responsibilities is a bit much. Please forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive," Lydia said, shocked at his admission.

"If you do not wish to return to Whiterun, I will not make you," Ulfric said, changing the topic. He stood up. "If you wish, you are more than welcome to stay here. Maybe we can find some trace of those sick bastards and make them pay. Although we had not gotten along very well towards the end, I did consider the Dragonborn a friend and would not have her memory sullied by such a disgraceful death."

"Oh, I couldn't impose," Lydia said, but in truth she didn't really have anywhere else to go. She still had some coin, but how much longer would it last? She had spent a large amount of what she had when she came here and had to pay for drinks and bribes in addition to her own cost of living. How much longer could she make that stretch before being reduced to becoming a sellsword of some sort?

"I insist," Ulfric said firmly. "You never would have been in that situation if I had been willing to be a little more patient with Diana. She tried, but she never truly knew our ways. Maybe if I had given her a bit more time or understanding, then we never would have argued." He patted Lydia on the shoulder. "Whatever guilt you feel, I feel twice as much. Stay, please. It's the least I can do. One room out of the palace is nothing to me. Tonight you'll rest in my room and in the morning we'll have Jorleif set up a guest bedroom for you."

"Your room?" Lydia stammered. As she looked around the dim room, she could make out how finely made the large bed was and the personal effects of the jarl. "Oh Talos, I can't possibly stay here."

"I insist," Ulfric said curtly. "You've had a hard time lately and I don't want you collapsing or risking permanent injury because of this." He smiled wickedly. "Don't worry. I won't sully your virtue. I can easily sleep in another bed. I know I've passed out on a cot in the war room more times than I care to count."

"Thank you, Jarl Ulfric," Lydia said humbly as the man left. She bowed her head, not certain if the feelings of relief were stronger than her feeling of shame. It had felt so good to finally unburden herself to someone else.

Ulfric allowed himself to smile as he closed the door behind him. Diana dead and no longer a factor in the war! Lydia, too ashamed to return to Whiterun, accepted his offer to stay. He could make good use of her knowledge of the hold and its jarl's court. It was as if Talos had answered his prayers.

Praise Talos!

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to everyone who left a review. Sorry this one was so slow. I haven't had time to write lately and this last weekend I was dragged off into the woods. I hope to write the next one faster. I know Lydia isn't the most popular character, especially in regards to this storyline, but I like to think that the wait and backstory will be worth it. There is going to be a reveal and I think it will be a doozy.**


	5. Lydia's Story - Part 3

**Morndas 21 Second Seed 202 4E 6:00 AM**

"Good morning, Lydia," Ulfric said with a smile when the former housecarl entered the war room.

It had been two months since Ulfric welcomed her into his home, and it still surprised her to see him up before her. No matter how early she got up, the jarl of Windhelm was already awake and working on the war effort or attending his court.

Lydia didn't sleep much anymore. There were too many nightmares for her when she closed her eyes. At night the dark would close in around her and dredge up memories of her thane, and Lydia would be overwhelmed with missing Diana. The woman had been infuriating, but she had been Lydia's friend as well as mistress and it hurt for her to be gone.

Most of her time was now spent sitting in front of the dragon scale armor. The pragmatic part of Lydia knew that she was just wasting time staring at the glittering mail, but she was just too emotionally exhausted to do anything more. She couldn't find it in her to keep moving now that she had accepted her thane's death. Maybe it had been a dragon instead of the Dark Brotherhood that had killed her. Lydia hoped so. It meant that Diana's soul hadn't been dragged into the Void, the ultimate fate of any victim of the Brotherhood. If only if she could honestly believe that lie.

"Lydia, may I speak to you?" Ulfric asked, breaking her train of pointless thoughts.

"Yes, Jarl Ulfric?" she responded formally as she stood before him. "What is it?"

"A Nord is not meant to spend every day sitting about," Ulfric said as he gazed at the war map. "We live in a hard land with an even harsher environment. We were built to be tough. I will continue to provide you with room and board as I promised, but I think it is time for you to start living again." He turned, his grey steel eyes boring into hers. "It's what she would have wanted."

Lydia felt a lump in her throat. Ulfric was right. Diana would have yelled at her months ago to get off her butt and do something. Anything. The Imperial might not have been the bravest warrior Lydia had ever met, but she had never shirked her duty. "What would you have me do, Jarl?"

"My men are spread thin with this damn war," Ulfric growled, although Lydia thought she saw a small smile as he returned studying his map. "I am in need of another housecarl. Galmar is my best, but I can't rely on only one bodyguard during these days. I would have you attend to me as well."

"Jarl Ulfric, I can't!" Lydia exclaimed. "How can you trust me? You know I lost my last charge and my previous jarl was Balgruuf. Wouldn't that create a conflict of interest?"

"Lydia," Ulfric sighed. He clapped his hands firmly on Lydia's shoulders. "I have no reason to doubt your loyalty. The fact you're here proves that you give completely to your liege. If you were going to betray me, you would have done so long ago. You are a good soldier and it pains me to see you wasting away. I won't let anyone under my responsibility be wasted, and as you live in my household I need to take responsibility for you too. Please, I need true sons and daughters of Skyrim by my side and I know you are one of them. I beseech you to say yes."

Lydia hesitated, torn by her loyalties. Part of her still felt beholden to Balgruuf, but she had shamed herself before him. Ulfric did want her services and she did agree with his policies, an unpopular opinion in Whiterun, but why should the Nords forsake their religious practices for the Altmer? What right did they have to dictate Nordic life?

And there had been the rumor that Diana and Ulfric had been more than friends. That she had been seen leaving his room very late at night or early in the morning on more than one occasion. Lydia knew that it had been true on at least one occasion. Maybe serving Ulfric would be like serving Diana's memory.

"It would be my honor, Jarl Ulfric," she said finally.

"I thought you would say that," Ulfric grinned. "Speak with Galmar about a schedule and then acquire anything you need from the armory. I think the bear skin armor will suit you nicely."

"Sir?"

"Lydia, you honestly don't think I would have anyone guard me who wasn't part of my cause, would you?" Ulfric laughed. "You're a Stormcloak now."

Oddly enough, that idea didn't bother Lydia at all.

* * *

**Loredas 1 Evening Star 202 4E 1:00 PM**

In the months that followed, Lydia was at least content. Not happy - she wasn't sure if she could be happy after her shame - but at least she was in familiar territory again. Protect your charge.

She also grew to know many Stormcloak soldiers by name. Ulfric frequently made time to visit the camps and talk to the captains about the war. He would stop and speak a few words with the soldiers after he gave a rousing speech about their cause. It was always the same speech about why Ulfric fought, but it was a moving one and after a while Lydia could recite it by heart. It never ceased to move her.

The troops had been on the field all summer and autumn. Now winter was almost on them and they were stuck in a siege against Whiterun. Balgruuf's hold was well defended with its tall walls and the natural hillside. Balgruuf also had a strong personal army as well as the backing of the Imperial army, making the numbers vastly in his favor. It was going to be a long siege and Ulfric couldn't afford to have his men retreat from the bitter cold lest he be unable to take the area around Whiterun again. He had mostly obtained it by his men getting there first. If the Imperials secured it, it would be a huge step backwards for the Stormcloaks.

Lydia had been scared that Ulfric would ask her for inside information about Balgruuf's forces. She had lived in Dragonsreach long enough to know where most of his scouts' patrols were and the training methods of his men. It would aid the Stormcloaks greatly. But Ulfric continued to prove that he was an honorable man and never once asked her for any insight. She merely attended meetings with him to watch his back in case of attack.

"We lost another squad of men to the cold," Galmar reported bitterly. He pushed a list to Ulfric. "Here is the list of the dead. It galls me to see young men die. They should die on the battlefield with an axe in their hands, not on their backs in bed."

Lydia gasped as she saw the names on the list. She knew many of those men. The cause listed was pneumonia. Despite giving their lives to Skyrim, their souls would not be destined for Sovngarde.

"It is tragic, Galmar, but there is nothing we can do," Ulfric sighed as he also read the list. "There will always be those unfortunate who will be lost to the cold, hunger, and other unsavory deaths. We would lose more if we pulled back. We cannot forsake our position. We must suffer the cold until spring when our siege can continue in earnest."

"Can't we make an attack now?" Lydia shouted. She surprised even herself that she had spoken up. She had never done so before.

Galmar scowled at her outburst, but Ulfric smiled sadly. "The weather is good enough, so yes. But unfortunately to what avail? The men are cold and tired and they are saddened by killing brothers and cousins. Without something to rouse morale, it would be just a waste of lives. I refuse to use my men carelessly. No, it's better to hunker down for now."

"What could you do to raise morale? Go and speak to the men?" Lydia suggested.

"I wish," Ulfric sighed heavily. "No, we need something more. I have given my all, but now we need a hero that the soldiers could look up to personally. They admire and respect me, but they need someone they know on the field fighting alongside them. I now longer have that particular luxury."

Lydia glanced over to the glittering dragon scale armor. Diana always said that if she chose a side in the war, it would give that side an unfair advantage. The Nords would be rallied by the mere sight of the Dragonborn by their side. She wouldn't even need to use her thu'um because they knew her by her armor. She could help end the war but wouldn't because of some desire to stay neutral.

But if she were here and knew those men like Lydia did, she would want to do something. She wouldn't want to stand to the side and let people die. She had always helped people every time. It didn't matter if it involved killing a nest of bloodthirsty vampires or helping to chop wood, Diana always gave herself to the people.

Like a true Nord.

"What if you had something the people could believe in?" Lydia said softly.

"If I did, then I would have them march," Ulfric answered. He raised an eyebrow. "Do you have something in mind, my housecarl?"

Lydia blushed at the term. He had never called her that just as she had never called him "my jarl." It felt too intimate, but she wouldn't worry about that right now. She had to focus on making her suggestion because if she got distracted she would never say it.

"What if you had the Dragonborn?" she asked.

"Dragonborn is dead," Galmar snorted. "Unless we found her body and raised it, and I doubt that would inspire any one."

"Galmar," Ulfric said with a warning tone.

"I know she's dead," Lydia snapped back, tears threatening to make talking impossible. She refused to cry in front of Ulfric. She didn't want to appear weak. "But most people don't know. We didn't announce it because we didn't want to scare people. No one wants to hear there is no one to fight the dragons anymore or that the Brotherhood killed a hero. It would destroy people.

"But we do have her armor. And I could wear it. I think Diana would understand if it was me who used it. She hated for people to use her things, but I was her best friend. She would want me to use it and save people. Because that's what she did. She was a hero. She wouldn't just stand by."

"Doesn't seem very honorable," Galmar grumbled.

"Diana didn't care about honor or glory," Lydia said as she clasped her hands. She gazed at the armor, imagining Diana wearing it right now and what she would be saying. "She just cared about people."

"I can't ask this of you, Lydia," Ulfric said gently. "I know your loyalty is with Whiterun. It would be wrong of me to make you choose."

"You're not asking me to choose. I chose on my own," Lydia declared as she looked at Ulfric, her eyes sparkling with hope for the first time since she had come here. "And my loyalty is to all of Skyrim. Not just one hold, but all of them. I want to help and I think this is the best way. No, I know it's the best way!"

"If you think it's best, I won't stop you," Ulfric said, a grin growing on his face.

"Thank you," Lydia said, having to stop from throwing herself into the jarl's arms. "Now, we need to relocate the troops. Balgruuf's men move here, here, and here." She quickly bent over the table and started moving pieces around. Her knowledge of Whiterun's defenses would allow them even quicker victory.

* * *

**Loredas 1 Evening Star 202 4E 11:00 PM**

"I'm still in shock," Galmar admitted after Lydia had retired for the night. He and Ulfric were reclining in Ulfric's room drinking some mead before going to bed. "I thought you were keeping her here out of pity. This was your plan all along and you didn't tell me."

"I couldn't afford to," Ulfric confessed. "You're terrible with politics, Galmar. You wear your heart and soul on your sleeve. It's what ultimately got us into trouble with Diana. No, I had to keep you in the dark on this. Lydia had to see our side of things and decide on her own how she wanted to throw her lot in with us. Worst case scenario, I got a loyal housecarl out of it. Best case scenario, she claimed the Dragonborn title."

"Hmph," Galmar snorted, "to what end? People are going to notice she's not Shouting. It will cause problems."

"People are simple," Ulfric countered. "They see what they want to see and they are going to see the armor. Besides, I have a plan for Shouting. It can wait. For now, we need Whiterun. Everything else is merely froth on our mead at this point, Galmar."

"We'll get exposed," Galmar cautioned. "It will ruin our reputations."

"Hardly," Ulfric scoffed, waving his friend's concerns aside. "Lydia will accept all blame if any gets thrown. She won't turn against us."

"Balgruuf will know."

"And why would our allies believe our foes?" Ulfric countered. "Of course the honorless Imperials will try to discredit us. That's all they've done this war. Trust me, Galmar, she'll be incredible."

* * *

**Loredas 22 Evening Star 202 4E 7:00 AM**

"You're going to be incredible," Ulfric reassured Lydia as he adjusted the dragon scale armor that she was wearing.

The two of them were alone in the large tent in the center of the Stormcloak camp. Lydia had just finished dressing and presented herself to the Stormcloak commander for a last second inspection.

"I'll be behind you the whole way," Ulfric continued. "You'll be leading the charge. This moment is yours. All of the honor and glory will be for you. I have no desire to steal it from you." He ran a large hand gently down her jawline. "I cannot wait to see you at the other side." Ulfric's steel eyes held promises that Lydia had to be imagining. She was just a lowly housecarl.

Lydia felt like a nervous wreck. She was going to step outside and they would all know that she was a fake. They would point and whisper and she would have to retreat back into the tent and never show her face again.

"Let's do this."

It wasn't a real voice. Just a memory of Diana as she grinned impishly before the two of them dived back into yet another draugr infested ruin. It had been their rallying cry. Whenever things go too scary, they would pause, look each other in the eye, and one of them would utter the phrase before they nodded in agreement and kept moving forward.

"Let's do this," Lydia said, nodding her determination.

When she stepped outside, it was still the gray pre-dawn. Ulfric was behind her, just as he promised. His hand was pressed against her lower back, comforting in its presence. A few nearby soldiers looked up, sleep still in their eyes. That changed quickly as they took in the dragon scale armor that she wore.

As Lydia and Ulfric strode through the camp, more and more heads popped out of tents to observe their jarl walking with the nameless woman wearing the famous suit. As the sun broke over the horizon, the morning light struck the scales so a small rainbow aura shimmered around Lydia, transforming her into a goddess given form.

Ulfric and Lydia climbed the short steps of a platform that had been set up in the center of the camp. They waited a few moments as the soldiers gathered around them. Expressions were mostly of wide eyes and slack jaws as they took in the beautiful armor made of the deadly foes of Skyrim. Whispers of "Dragonborn" could be heard as they talked among themselves.

"My fellow Stormcloaks," Ulfric called loudly, using his training in the thu'um to make the most of his voice so everyone could hear, "today is a day that will live in the songs of our children. Today is the day when the fighting begins in earnest. We will no longer allow the tyranny of elves or the cowardice of the Empire keep us from our way of life. Today, we will take Whiterun and make it a city sworn to Skyrim instead of another pawn of the vast, faceless Empire. Today, we will honor Talos as we make the first strike against the Thalmor. Today, you will fight and some of you will die, but you will do so under the banner of the Dragonborn!"

With those words, Galmar pulled on a nearby rope and a flag with the stylized dragon curled into the shape of a crescent moon unfurled to fly beneath the Stormcloak banner. A cheer rose from the crowd when they saw the hero's symbol with their own.

"Say something," Ulfric urged quietly.

"FOR SKYRIM!" Lydia screamed. The response was deafening and exactly what Ulfric had hoped for. There was no need for further preamble as they poured onto the battlefield. The battle for Whiterun had begun in earnest.

* * *

**Loredas 22 Evening Star 202 4E 6:00 PM**

The fighting felt like it lasted forever. No matter how many foes Lydia struck down, there were always more. Imperial red and Whiterun beige both clashed against Stormcloak blue over and over. The ground ran red with blood and high overhead crows flew as they waited for easy pickings when the battle ended.

Lydia had been in many skirmishes in the last year when she and Diana had worked as bounty hunters for Whiterun or delved into tombs for word walls, but she had never been in a full scale battle like this one. It felt like too much to watch a sea of men on the field, all ready to kill or die for their cause.

The Nord's ears rang from the constant clash of metal on metal and screams of battle and death all around her. Too many times Lydia would see a familiar Battle-Born or Gray-Mane cousin lying dead on the ground. Both sides had people that she knew; it tore at her to see them lost, but she continued forward. To stop now would have made those deaths in vain.

The worst was toward the end of the day. Daylight was fading fast behind the mountains as Lydia and Galmar scaled the stairs in the Cloud District that led to Dragonsreach with their personal squad of Stormcloaks.

"Jarl Balgruuf the Greater," Lydia called after they battered down the doors to the great hall, "your rule over Whiterun has come to an end."

At the end of the hall, Balgruuf stood before his throne. He wore a full suit of plated steel armor and carried the axe he had offered to Ulfric. Lydia had never seen him wear anything other than his courtly clothes before and she thought he looked oddly out of place in the steel.

"I'll be damned if I let my city fall without lifting a blade in her defense," Balgruuf proclaimed as he raised his axe in the air. "For the Empire!"

The jarl charged into battle with Irileth by his side as well as several Whiterun guards. Lydia ignored them as she focused on Balgruuf. Once he surrendered, it would be all over. She crashed into him, swinging to only do nonlethal blows with the blunt side of her axe. She may have agreed to fight against him, but she couldn't kill her former jarl.

"You?" Balgruuf snarled as he took in the dragon scale armor. "A Stormcloak? I thought better of you. What happened to your oath to swear your bow to me, Diana? You'll come to regret this day."

Lydia wanted to sigh with relief when the jarl of Whiterun didn't recognize her. The added visor to the helm obscured her features enough to even fool one of the people closest to Diana. She didn't answer as she continued her assault against the older man. Balgruuf tried to block her as best as he could, but Lydia was faster and stronger than the jarl.

"You're not Diana," Balgruuf said, his voice full of amazement. "She never fought this well with an axe. Who are you?"

"The Empire has no place in Skyrim," Lydia yelled, "not anymore. And you have no place in Whiterun anymore. Surrender."

"Never," Balgruuf growled. "This is my land and I will fight until I can't. We need the Empire as much as it needs us. We Nords are the Empire! Our blood built it. Our blood sustains it! You should know that."

"Do you truly wish to see an Empire without Talos?" Lydia countered. "Without its soul? How can you claim to be a worshipper of him and support the elves?"

"How do you know that?" Balgruuf asked, faltering as he realized the pretender was someone who was close enough to know about his private religion.

Lydia didn't give him a chance to recover as she pushed him hard against the long dining table and raised her axe. "For Skyrim, for Talos," she said simply as she cracked the axe against the jarl's skull, knocking him out.

"Surrender!" Galmar yelled. "We have bested your jarl. Stand down or he dies." The Whiterun contingent reluctantly lowered their weapons at Galmar's proclamation.

"Do not dare to harm one hair on his head," Irileth growled. She still held her blade. "I don't care how many of you there are, I'll kill all of you if anything happens to Jarl Balgruuf."

"Look at the little elf with all bark and no bite," Galmar laughed. "Typical."

"I promise if it was just the two of us, Nord," Irileth spat as she threw down her weapon, "you'd get plenty of bite from me."

"Maybe I'll have the displeasure someday," Galmar snarled.

"Men, grab the jarl and secure him in that side room," Lydia commanded pointing towards Farengar Secret-Fire's room. "His court wizard should be there. Make sure he's not a problem. Gather up the jarl's brother and children and put them all together. Make a guard for them. Jarl Ulfric will decide what to do with them when he arrives."

"Dragonborn," one of the guards said. "The wizard is dead in here. Looks like he was stabbed repeatedly with a dagger."

Lydia frowned at the news. She didn't remember anyone going in there. "Take him out and put him with the rest of the dead. Farengar was a good man. He deserves a proper burial with the rest of them."

"I knew you were no good," Irileth snapped as she was escorted away. Lydia pushed the feeling of guilt away. Irileth liked no one other than Balgruuf. The comment wasn't really intended for her anyway.

The next hour was spent cleaning up and securing the keep. When Ulfric arrived with his own squad of soldiers, Lydia thought her chest would burst from pride. His eyes were squarely on her as he ascended the stairs of the great hall. To his right was an older man who Lydia recognized as Vignar Gray-Mane.

"I trust that you will be able to restore the calm and reinstate the government with little trouble, Vignar," Ulfric said calmly.

"Of course, Ulfric," Vignar scoffed. "My family is greatly respected around here. We may not have the Empire's gold like the Battle-Borns, but we're an old and honorable clan. You don't have to worry about the Companions either. They wisely chose to be neutral in this war and they know me personally."

"Good," Ulfric nodded, "I don't need mercenaries thinking they're heroes."

"They're honorable men and women," Vignar said stiffly. He had been part of the Companions for years.

"I don't deny they do good work, but they don't need to worry about matters bigger than they can handle," Ulfric said. "Let them deal with what they do best and leave the war to others. For now, do what you can to restore order. You'll be named jarl of Whiterun in the morning if there isn't rioting in the streets."

Vignar grinned at that bit of news and scurried off to use his connections to quell the fighting.

"Dragonborn," Ulfric said, turning to Lydia and pulling her into an embrace, "you were magnificent. Just as I knew you would be." His smile made Lydia ready to take another hold in his name right then and there regardless of how weary she was. "It has been a long day. Go, clean up, and meet me in the jarl's quarters. There we will eat and you can tell me how the fighting went."

* * *

**Loredas 22 Evening Star 202 4E 7:00 PM**

"My jarl?"

The jarl's chambers were cast in dim illumination from the low banked fire and a few candles set around the room. Ulfric smiled when he saw Lydia. Her shoulder length brown hair was still damp and hung loosely. He could make out her silhouette through the simple shift she wore.

"Join me," he commanded as he pulled out a chair for Lydia to sit in.

"Please, I can get it," she stammered, looking down as she approached. A blush graced her cheeks making her even prettier than usual. "You shouldn't do anything for me. I'm just a housecarl."

"You can't think that way anymore," Ulfric chided. "You're the Dragonborn now."

"I'm just pretending," Lydia protested. "Diana was the real Dragonborn."

"You're my Dragonborn now," Ulfric insisted as he grabbed Lydia's arm and pulled her close. He paused. "That is the first time you've addressed me as your jarl. Do you mean that?"

"Yes," Lydia answered. She still couldn't meet Ulfric's eyes; they were too intense.

"Well then," Ulfric smirked, pleased at her declaration of allegiance, "if I say that you're the Dragonborn, then it must be true."

"Jarl Ulfric," Lydia started to protest weakly. She knew it was wrong, but part of her reveled at Ulfric's proclamation.

"You should have been the Dragonborn to begin with you. You're a proper Nord – strong, loyal, and humble. You're perfect." He leaned forward and kissed Lydia roughly, showing none of the gentleness he had with Diana. He was pleased to note that Lydia didn't struggle when he did; instead she returned it just as passionately.

"What about Diana?" Lydia gasped when Ulfric finally broke the kiss. It was one thing to take up the Dragonborn mantle with the intent to help end a war and save a country. It felt like something completely different to be dallying with her man.

"She's gone," Ulfric said as he tilted Lydia's chin up. He ran his lips along her jaw making her shiver. His tongue darted down her neck to the crook of her shoulder where he buried his face against her skin. Lydia stifled a groan as Ulfric pulled her shift open and exposed her skin to the cool air. "We can't live in her shadow forever."

Part of Lydia feared that she was doomed for that very thing, but the rest of her brain was focused on what Ulfric was doing as he continued to press his body against hers. "Command me, my jarl," she moaned, "I am yours to with as you wish."

"You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that," Ulfric said as he led her to Balgruuf's bed.

* * *

**Turdas 21 First Seed 203 4E 12:00 PM**

"What do you mean the Dragonborn is returning with us to Windhelm?" Galmar growled.

The last three months had been spent reforming the local government, trying to repair the destruction of the coup, and housing the Stormcloak army. Unfortunately, it was difficult to achieve all three goals at once. With over a thousand troops now living on the streets of the city, the place looked much more run down it ever had under Balgruuf's rule.

Ulfric had magnanimously allowed Balgruuf and his court to find refuge in Solitude. "This was never personal, old friend," Ulfric had proclaimed as the former nobles were loaded onto a wagon. "I beseech you to go to Elisif and tell her that this would be best resolved if she surrendered."

"You may think that now," Balgruuf countered, "but what will you do when your forces are spread too thin, Ulfric? We need the solidarity of the Empire, not your personal campaign to be High King. You'll regret this someday, you fool."

"I doubt that," Ulfric answered, all joviality gone. "Get them out of my sight."

The only real dark smear during that time was when Galmar received word from Windhelm that his brother had been found murdered. The man's body had been discovered in an abandoned house. Lydia was never told the details, but given Galmar's reaction, it had been horrible. Nightshade had been found nearby.

"The Dark Brotherhood," she had whispered. Ulfric had only nodded and asked some time alone with his old friend.

Galmar had aged a decade after that time. All of the fighting had barely touched him. After all, the man was a career warrior. He had fought in the Great War and had served as a housecarl to Clan Stormcloak since he had taken up his axe. But losing his brother to such a dishonorable death had changed him in a way nothing else had. He and Ulfric sat up drinking in the man's memory and Galmar spent a week alone before throwing himself back into the war effort. Mostly he seemed angrier than ever when dealing with anyone other than Ulfric.

"She needs to be out on the field leading the men," Galmar complained. "That was the whole point, wasn't it? To have someone the men could look up to."

"Lydia needs training," Ulfric said. "I am going to teach her the thu'um."

Galmar looked over at Lydia and snorted as his eyes ran over her form. It had been no secret that she was sharing Ulfric's bed, especially since it was every night. "You should have kept your prick in your pants, Ulfric. It caused you more problems than it may have solved."

"I'll let that pass since we're old friends," Ulfric said smugly as he pulled Lydia close to him, "but I don't need to remind you to not speak that way to me again. Understood?"

"Oh, I understand just fine," Galmar growled. "I suppose she won't be back on the field before the end of the year. I'll have to find some way to spin that to the men so they don't get discouraged. No army likes for all of their leaders to be safely behind the walls of home while they're out on the field getting slaughtered daily."

"I have no doubt that her training will be done long before then. I think we will be ready by Frostfall at the latest," Ulfric said cheerfully.

"Just in time for winter," Galmar snapped sarcastically.

"In the meantime, we can still campaign by going to all of the outposts," Ulfric continued, ignoring his housecarl's foul mood. "Let everyone see our Dragonborn first hand. Why depend on secondhand rumor when the men can see her in person? This will work out to our advantage in the long run."

Lydia blushed as Galmar's eyes ran over her again. She hated how it felt like he was studying her like she was some strange bug. "I wish I could be on the field," she said finally, hating how defensive she sounded. "I would rather be there. I swear."

"Obviously we can't say why Lydia isn't leading the charge," Ulfric said. "I'm depending on you as always, Galmar. You'll think of something to keep the men's spirits up. If all fails, just focus on our Whiterun victory."

"Gods damned politics," Galmar grumbled as he moved off to get ready for the trip back to Windhelm. "I'm not a politician. I'm a bloody soldier. Just let me hit something. Why couldn't the Dragonborn have been a man?"

"Don't mind Galmar," Ulfric said after his second-in-command left. "Ever since Rolff..."

"I understand," Lydia said quickly. "I just feel bad about the whole ordeal."

"Well, don't," Ulfric said gently as he pulled Lydia close. He wrapped his hands around her waist so they rested over her stomach as she nestled her back against him. "Maybe I like having you nearby for a little bit longer. If nothing else, it will be nice to have someone else around who knows the thu'um."

"Will my voice do the same thing as you were when I, ah, you know," Lydia stammered. She had been so scared their first night together when Ulfric's thu'um had shaken the bed as he came.

"Only if your emotions go out of control," Ulfric assured her. "Which won't happen. Unless it's then, which I would take only as a compliment. It's not a full thu'um, so I won't be hurt and neither will you." He rubbed her stomach to comfort her. "No one will be hurt. I promise."

* * *

**Loredas 20 Midyear 205 4E 8:30 PM**

The next two years had been a wonderful time for Lydia. Ulfric trained her personally in the old way of the Tongues, she started to learn the thu'um, she was loved and respected, and the Stormcloaks found victory across the land.

Then Diana came back from the dead. One day she had just appeared and demanded her armor back. That had been a terrifying moment for Lydia, but it became worse when she found out Diana had disappeared to be with that psychopath Cicero and that she had become a member of the Dark Brotherhood.

Despite her best efforts to capture them and have them meet justice, Diana and Cicero both escaped. Worse, Diana had stripped Lydia of the precious armor and then had her deposited on High Hrothgar like some common parcel by a dragon. A dragon of all creatures! The same one who had taken Diana to Sovngarde all those years ago.

Lydia had done her best to rush back to Windhelm. Descending the Throat of the World with minimal clothing and gear had been the hardest part. The Greybeards had at least given her some of their robes to wear for the trip down, but they had nothing else to offer. She feared she would fall and freeze to death, but she didn't care. She had to get back to Windhelm and warn Ulfric.

When she arrived in Ivarstead, she stole the first horse she found outside of the local inn. Grabbed the one next to it also so she could ride as long as possible. She rode them until they fell and then she kept moving until she found another horse. She didn't care. She would pay the owners later, if there was a later for her.

When Lydia burst into the Palace of the Kings, for a brief moment she thought she had made it back in time. Ulfric was slumped on his throne with his head bowed. It was a bit odd, but she was so relieved she didn't care. Then she got closer and saw the trail of red running down Ulfric's throat. It had been slashed, severing the cords almost to the point of decapitation. A black handprint symbol was burned on the stone throne, loudly proclaiming the Brotherhood's victory. It felt like some sick joke.

Lydia fell to her knees before her dead jarl. She had failed again. Worse than before, if that was possible. "I won't let them win," she swore as she held Ulfric's hand in hers. "I'll win Skyrim for you. I promise. And a Stormcloak will sit on the throne as High King. I don't care if it takes another fifteen years, it will be done."

"Regent?" a woman's voice broke Lydia out of her memories.

"Yes?" Lydia answered when she thought she could without her voice cracking. She quickly wiped her tears away. "What is it?"

"His lordship insisted on seeing you," the maid answered, her voice sounding amused. "I told him that you were resting, but he would have none of it. He said he was the jarl and his word was law. What should I do?"

"Have him come in," Lydia said, sitting up. Her heart felt lighter at the thought of her love. After Ulfric's death, he was the only thing that kept her moving.

A figure appeared in the doorway before dashing into the room. Lydia laughed as she threw her arms around him. "How are you, my darling?"

"I missed you," he wailed as he buried his head against her breasts. "You were gone all day!"

"I know, baby, I'm sorry," Lydia said as she hugged him. "You know I love you, right?"

"I know," Elric Stormcloak said as he lifted his head to look at the most wonderful person in the world. Lydia chuckled as she used a cloth to wipe the snot off his face. His big blue eyes shone brightly and his chubby cheeks were red with exertion. The toddler popped his thumb in his mouth and sucked on it a moment before saying. "I love you too, Mommy."

* * *

**A/N: Huge thanks to Zute, MightyMerlin, and Ellabea for leaving comments for the last chapter.**

**I hope the promised reveal was as good as advertised. I've been very, very excited about introducing Elric Stormcloak and I hope you guys are too. I wrote this entire chapter, 6k+ words, in a frenzy of six hours straight last night.**


	6. Echoes

**Turdas 22 Frostfall 205 4E 4:00 PM**

"_Cicero, Cicero, my sweet Cicero."_

The Keeper looked up from cleaning the catacombs that housed the Night Mother's coffin; his eyebrows rose in shock. No one should be down here. They knew this place was off limits for everyone except him…and the Listener.

But there was no Listener. There hadn't been for years and years. That was why Cicero was the Keeper. Because the Listener had died in mage's fire and the Night Mother's coffin brought to Cheydinhal for safekeeping.

Except he wasn't in Cheydinhal anymore. Cicero was in Dawnstar Sanctuary. This was his home, his jester's retreat. He had left Cyrodiil when Cheydinhal had become compromised. People banging on the Black Door, trying to get in. Trying to destroy the Night Mother. Trying to silence her forever.

"Who's there?" Cicero growled as he fingered the ebony dagger that hung at his side. His blade may be retired, but Cicero would fight to his last breath to protect his dear Mother.

"_Cicero, Cicero, poor Cicero."_

"Show yourself!" Cicero demanded. He looked around the nook he was in and saw no one. Stalking into the hallway, Cicero couldn't find any one either.

"_Cicero, Cicero, Cicero."_

"I'll find you," Cicero promised in a sing-song voice as he prowled towards the Night Mother's hiding place. If any defilers were here, they would head to her.

When he reached the alcove that held the Night Mother's body, there was still no sign of any intruders. Cicero turned in a circle, his senses on high alert, but he couldn't find anyone.

"Mother, do not fear," he muttered. "Loyal Cicero is here to protect you."

"_Cicero, Cicero, my Cicero."_

The Imperial gasped in surprise. It sounded as if the voice was coming from behind him. He spun around and looked at the coffin, tears in his eyes.

"Mother, is that your voice I hear?" he whispered. Cicero fell to his knees, supplicating to his goddess. "Cicero is here! Command your Keeper!" But no more words came. The silence had fallen again. The maddening silence was everywhere.

"No, no, just Cicero's mind playing tricks on him again," the Keeper tsked as he stood and dusted his tattered motley. A great sadness fell over him as he placed a few flowers before the Night Mother before making his way back up to the Sanctuary proper.

If only if he wasn't alone. If only if there was a Listener.

The words, the words, the Binding words. Mother's only way to speak to loyal, sweet Cicero.

As the jester opened the false entrance disguised as a stained glass mural, he squeaked in surprise and ducked back into the passageway.

There were people in Sanctuary!

Cicero peeked out again and saw the unchild kicking her feet while sitting at the long dining table. She was talking to the Redguard as he stirred the cooking pot. Others wearing the shrouded robes and armor walked by chatting amongst themselves.

Time reversed and Cicero felt dizzy as he remembered that he wasn't alone any more. Poor, foolish Cicero sometimes got confused if he was alone for too long. The jester jumped in the air and clicked his feet together as he laughed. Cicero burst from the back entrance and tumbled about the dining table. He sang loudly, "Not alone, not alone, Cicero is no longer on his own!"

He rolled to a stop at Nazir's feet, still curled into a ball. "Oh wise Nazir, where is the Listener?"

"I've told you a dozen times that I don't know," Nazir growled, trying to not roll his eyes and failing miserably.

Cicero didn't notice. He had flipped over so he was walking on his hands and was making his way down to the practice area that way. If Nazir didn't know, maybe one of the others would.

"He is getting worse again," Babette said mildly as she watched the madman wobble away. She turned back to Nazir, frowning. "There has been no word from Hecate?"

"No," Nazir said as he stirred the pot hard enough to make some of the food slosh out the side. The fire hissed angrily from the action. "She never thinks to write. It wouldn't kill her to check in at least once a week so we know that she's alive or not captured."

Hecate had left three weeks ago to go to Markarth so she could scout the Understone Keep, the stone palace that housed the jarl of the Reach. Igmund had sat on the throne for almost two decades, but he had lost it when Ulfric's army took control of the Hold. Now Thongvor Silver-Blood ruled, feeding precious silver into the Stormcloak coffers in exchange for political favors.

The money went a long way to help bolster the Stormcloak army. It bought much needed supplies and bribes that allowed the rebels to function much more efficiently than they ever did without it. That money also had been an important source of income for the Imperial Legion when the Empire controlled the Reach and it hurt deeply to lose that precious resource.

Solitude had not performed another Black Sacrament, but it was only a matter of time before it came. Probably some point next year after several lost battles. Elisif may have sullied her hands and soul by calling on the Dark Brotherhood to kill undesirables in the past, but she still appeared to be loyal to the Empire. She would want to give the Legion a chance to prove that it could win back Skyrim without the aid of assassins.

In the meantime, Hecate had decided that she wanted to know the lay of the land and political situation first hand for when the time came for a Black Sacrament to fulfill. She could have sent one of the initiates to do it for her, but there was the argument that personally knowing a situation made it much easier to adapt if trouble came along. Also, she needed to create a cover identity for later when she wanted to get close to the jarl.

Cicero had been upset at the idea of Hecate leaving without him, but she never took the Keeper with her if she thought she was going to be gone for more than seven days. She took his duties almost as seriously as he did and always strived to get him back in time for the Night Mother's weekly oiling. Babette had noticed them stumble into Sanctuary in the dark hours of the night more than once barely making the deadline, but had not said anything.

What would have been the point? Who would have reprimanded the two? It's not like anyone else had the authority.

Personally, Babette felt that Hecate had taken the job to get out of Sanctuary for a while and to get away from Cicero. Although the two fools adored each other to the point of nausea, the Listener still felt a need for freedom. Even if that freedom was no more than an illusion. She would always have to return here and it would always be sooner than later. Because the Night Mother called to her and she was the only one who could hear the Matron's voice.

There had been no contracts that could justifiably need the personal attention of a high ranking assassin, especially that of the Black Hand, since Fort Hraggstad in Mid Year. This had kept Hecate and Cicero more or less Sanctuary-bound. Cicero might have been better disciplined about his dagger being retired after years of being the Keeper, but Hecate's dragon blood demanded death and she couldn't always quell it.

Babette thought that it was very telling that the Listener had not repaired or replaced her shattered tragedy mask. Hecate had made excuses about needing materials to not just make a new one for herself, but a matching one for Cicero too. Ebony was a rare material after all. A quick glance in the Listener's chest confirmed that she had plenty of the dark metal to make more than two face concealing masks, so Babette wasn't sure what she was stalling for.

Maybe she had lost interesting in the whole overdramatic routine Cicero and she had been performing. There was no reason for the whole fanfare of the two jester personas when a knife across the throat of a sleeping man killed him just as thoroughly.

"I would not worry about her too much," Babette said lightly. "Hecate always lands on her feet."

"She better," Nazir responded as he moved to the table and started cutting vegetables. "I don't think I could take either the clown freaking out about her death or another stint with no Listener. Astrid was a good leader, and to be honest better than Hecate in a lot of ways, but I have gotten used to getting contracts directly from the Night Mother instead of relying on word of mouth. People are starting to fear us again instead of treating us like some gods damned joke."

Babette agreed that the respect was nice, but she had always operated as a false helpless victim. It didn't matter to her what people thought of her, unless it was their last few moments of life and she was draining them dry. Then she wanted to see fear in their eyes as they slowly dulled into death.

What really mattered to Babette was the money. She needed large amounts of cash for her research. Ever since her failed experiment with Aventus, Babette had decided to try alternate venues of companionship.

Aventus had incorrectly thought she was an automaton from an ancient Dwemer ruins. Although the idea had been laughable at the time, there was no reason why it couldn't be true. There were centurion statues that still guarded the old Dwarf cities. If she could get enough information and materials, maybe Babette could build one for herself. Make it more humanoid than the bulky monstrosities, of course. And if that failed, then there was always the next set of experiments she had brewing in her laboratory...

"Cicero!"

The jester came running from the training area as if his ass were on fire and his head might be catching. Vedave followed quickly on the jester's heels. The Keeper was laughing loudly as the Dark Elf threw a string of curses his way.

Babette merely shook her head at the antics. Hecate couldn't come home soon enough.

* * *

**Loredas 24 Frostfall 205 4E 12:00 PM**

Cicero was so bored. There was nothing to do. Tomorrow was his weekly oiling of Mother, and there was no need to clean the catacombs again. The place was spotless, or at least as spotless as a tomb got. The flowers were fresh, the candles were new, and there wasn't a speck of dust to be seen anywhere near Mother.

The jester was currently in his room, which was a rarity. He didn't sleep often and when he did it was usually with Hecate in her room in her wonderfully big bed. Since she had been gone, Cicero had taken to sleeping curled up behind Mother's coffin. It felt safe there with the Unholy Matron. There no one could torment or tease poor Cicero.

Not that any of his siblings would dare do that. Cicero was the Keeper after all. His position was a sacred one and made him the highest ranking member other than Hecate. But sometimes when he was alone in the catacombs, Cicero would hear the barest of whispers. It felt like something was scraping its claws along his brain.

He tried to stay busy to keep it away, whatever it was, but there was only so much Cicero could do. Nazir didn't like Cicero in his kitchen, Babette didn't like him helping with her alchemy, and Vedave got very cranky when Cicero used his enchanting table.

Meena was fun, but she was gone as usual. Miss Kitty didn't stay in Sanctuary very much. Last Cicero had heard, she had said something about going hunting in Winterhold.

So today Cicero thought he would write in his journal. He hadn't done that in a while and his personal chronicles of the Dark Brotherhood were woefully behind. Shameful really. Unfortunately, Cicero didn't feel like writing. It took too long and felt dull. And he didn't want to relive some of those really bad moments.

Instead he had just doodled in the pages. There were sketches of the others – mostly Nazir, Babette, Meena, Aventus, and Vedave. The biggest one was of the Listener. She took up most of the page. He had drawn her wearing her jester's motley and she was dancing. She was so lovely with her arms spread wide as she spun on one foot. But her face was turned away because Cicero couldn't quite remember what dear Hecate looked like.

It worried him. Cicero never forgot a face. Well, not forever. Maybe for a little while, but then he would remember again. And still the Listener's face was fading from his memory. Were her eyes wider or narrower? How full were her lips?

What if he forgot completely? Would the Listener disappear? Would she stop existing because he forgot her? It was too terrible to consider.

"I'm home!"

Cicero sat up straight at the voice. It was her! Finally, finally, finally after weeks of being gone his dear Listener was home! He threw down his quill and book so he could run out into the common room.

She was standing at the top of the stairs, laughing at something Nazir had said. "I can't talk right now," Hecate said as she handed her bag to Nazir. "I need to go to commune with Mother and see what prayers have accumulated since I left. When I get done, I'll let you know everything that I've been doing."

Nazir grumbled acquiescence as Hecate descended the stairs. Cicero wouldn't stop staring at the Listener as she passed him. She was wearing her shrouded armor, although the cowl was down. Hecate didn't stop to talk to Cicero or even acknowledge him as she swept to the stained glass exit that led to the catacombs.

The Keeper didn't mind in the slightest. Of course the Listener should speak with the Night Mother first when returning home for the first time in forever. He did follow behind her, laughing and skipping merrily.

When the Listener knelt in front of the Night Mother's coffin, Cicero took a seat on a pew in the back of the small room. He watched enviously as she gently opened the sarcophagus and touched the Night Mother's hand. After so many years of jealously guarding the Night Mother from the unworthy it felt odd for Cicero to quietly stand aside and watch someone else touch her.

Although Cicero held the Night Mother every week when he oiled her, he was only allowed to do so then. The Listener had a much more intimate relationship with the Unholy Matron and could touch her when she wished. There was no fear of the corruption of the flesh where the Listener was concerned.

"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother, give me the prayers of your children," Hecate intoned, her gaze respectfully lowered. She smiled pleasantly as she listened, her head tilted just slightly as if to better hear the ethereal words. Cicero felt his stomach tighten in jealousy.

Cicero was glad that there was a Listener. Really he was! But part of him still wondered why he had not been chosen. Why wasn't he good enough for Mother? He was good enough to be Keeper, why not Listener? He tried to stifle a sigh as he looked at the blissful expression on Hecate's face. It just felt a little unfair.

After what felt like an eternity of watching what he would never have, Cicero stood when Hecate did. She gave a little bow, thanking the Night Mother before closing the casket. She daintily brushed at her knees although there was no sign of dust on her legs before turning to leave the catacombs.

Hecate walked by without saying anything to Cicero again. He didn't mind. She had to remember all of the prayers of the needy that the Night Mother had given her. If she stopped to chat with Cicero then she would risk forgetting them and that would be blasphemous.

When Hecate sat at her desk in her room to write down all of the petitioners, Cicero curled up on the floor next to her and rested his head against her leg. It felt good to just touch her even if her attention was elsewhere. He kept hoping that she would reach down and run her fingers through his hair as she did sometimes, but today Hecate was completely focused on her task.

When the last name and location had been penned, Hecate rolled up the list and sealed it. The lunch bell rang as Nazir called everyone for the midday meal. The Listener and Keeper went to the dining room to take their customary seats after Hecate gave Nazir the names.

Lunch lasted longer than usual since everyone opted to eat at the table instead of just grabbing a bowl and taking off to their individual rooms. Hecate regaled them with tales of the adventure that she had been dragged into while at Markarth. She had killed a giant, stopped Falmer from invading the city when ancient Dwemer technology broke, and helped out with a bunch of little requests from locals.

"At one point I heard there was a word wall above a waterfall that was relatively nearby," Hecate told them. "I get up there and find that there is a hagraven in the middle of some dark ritual. I wasn't prepared to fight her, so I decided that retreat was the better part of valor. I turned and ran to find myself at the end of a dead end runway that hung over the waterfall. I looked behind me and saw the hagraven was slowly approaching me with lightning sparking in her hands and a sadistic smile on her face. I took a deep breath and jumped off the side into the churning waters below. I was never so scared in my life as I fell through the air!" The Listener gestured wildly as she reenacted the whole thing.

"When I hit the water, I thought I was going to drown because the force of hitting it knocked the wind out of me. I floundered about, not sure which way was up. I remembered learning how to swim in Bravil when I was little and how you're supposed to take a moment to relax and focus if you start drowning. I made myself go limp and floated to the surface. When I pulled myself ashore, sputtering and gasping, a ghost appeared!

"He gave me a speech about how he tried that very jump when he was alive, with less savory results, and how I should be proud that I survived. I just sort of spit up some water as a response and he faded away. After I recovered, I went back up to the top, much more prepared this time. The hagraven didn't even hear me when I shot her in the back. I finally got to look at the word wall and I already knew the damn word!"

The table burst into laughter at the end of the Listener's story. Her look of pure aggravation just sealed the story, especially for Cicero. He could imagine her cursing and stamping her foot in anger when she realized her trip had been completely pointless.

"Over the course of the last several weeks, Thongvor was so impressed with my deeds that he awarded me the title of thane. I purchased some property which will be helpful for having a base if we need anyone to stay there for a long period of time," Hecate told Nazir. "It's a very lovely house, although the location is less than ideal. It's not near anything and at the end of a long set of stairs, but I like it nonetheless."

"That sounds very good for our purposes," Nazir said as he passed a bowl to Hecate, "but I wonder if you spent more time the last couple of weeks being the Dragonborn instead of the Listener."

Cicero silently agreed with the Redguard. There had been times during her recital the Listener hadn't looked like Hecate. She had looked like Diana. It was a subtle thing. Her voice would pitch slightly differently, her facial expression was softer. Then there were times when she was exceptionally shy that she reminded Cicero of Phoebe from so long ago. A smudge of soot on her face, an innocent expression as she discovered something for the first time, or a shy smile brought that girl back to mind.

Listener, Dragonborn, Diana, Phoebe, Hecate, thane, Dovahkiin. Too many names and titles to keep track of at times. It made poor Cicero feel confused and he worried that he would stumble on her name sometime.

"I know where my loyalties lie," Hecate said coolly as she spooned some food onto her plate. "I won't lie and say I didn't enjoy my adventures, but my heart was here."

"It would explain why you've been so chatty," Babette teased. "Normally it's like herding mammoths to get you to talk about what you've been up to."

"I've been lonely," Hecate admitted. "I've been surrounded by people, but none of them knew me. It's been a while since I've lived like that." After that she was quiet the rest of the meal.

No matter how much Cicero tried to get her attention, with either jokes or balancing objects haphazardly, Hecate kept her attention elsewhere. Even when he "accidentally" spilled a pitcher of milk all over Nazir, the Listener said nothing. It was frustrating.

Had Cicero done something to anger the Listener? He couldn't remember anything, but it wasn't uncommon for Hecate to get upset about something and Cicero not know why.

When the meal ended, Hecate stretched her arms behind her head as she stood. "I have a long ride back," she said trying to stifle a yawn. "I think I'll take a nap."

Cicero followed Hecate as she walked down the hallway to her room. The others went their separate ways now that lunch was over and the Listener had been properly greeted for her return.

It was dark in the corridor. No one had bothered with lighting any torches since everyone was up or out for the day. Cicero could barely make out Hecate's form as he followed her.

"Hecate," Cicero started to say as he reached out a hand to her.

Before he could continue, she turned around as fast as lightning and shoved him against the wall. Without a word, Hecate's lips crashed against Cicero's. Suddenly her body was pressed against his, her leather armor crushing against his velvet motley. Her arms wrapped around his neck as her legs encircled his.

"Gods, it took everything in me to not jump you when I came home," Hecate murmured in Cicero's ear. She nipped the lobe before kissing his neck. Cicero shivered at the contact. "I knew if I paused for a moment, I wouldn't be able to get anything else done."

"Dear Hecate missed poor Cicero?" he asked, giddy at her words. His arms encircled her waist to pull her closer. There was always the worry that she would decide that she had tired of him and his foolish ways.

"Of course, my dear Fool," she answered. A hand cupped his crotch, palming his erection. "I can see you missed me too."

"Yes, yes, yes," Cicero chanted as he kissed her again. His hands fluttered up to undo the buckles on her armor, but Hecate stopped him.

"It would take too long," she said. The Listener looked around furtively and saw that no one was nearby. A mischievous look crossed her face as she unlaced Cicero's pants. "This won't though."

The Listener knelt before Cicero and pulled his pants low enough to expose him. He didn't have enough time to register the cool air before her lips were on him. Her tongue ran down his length before she took him in her mouth. At the rate she was going, he wasn't going to last long. Which was probably the point.

Cicero gasped with pleasure as he arched against the wall. His gloved hands sought purchase on the wall to have something to hold onto as he tried to not thrust into Hecate. She had never done this for him before. Usually he was the one who took the initiative in pleasuring her. He didn't know what she liked, but he knew she would tell him if she wanted something particular.

There was no doubt that after this little naughty tryst, they would run to Hecate's room where clothes would end up thrown on the floor and they would become a tangled mess of limbs on the bed where Cicero would get to Keep his Listener.

Hecate would bite and scratch Cicero hard enough to leave marks. It would hurt and Cicero didn't particularly care for it, but she never broke the skin and it was just another manifestation of her inner dragon. It pleased Cicero even if it did hurt because he was the only one she allowed herself to lose control in that way. He would look in her eyes during those times and see how huge her pupils were and there was a cruelty that lurked below her normally kind exterior that sent shivers down Cicero's spine.

Cicero came, he called out a name.

That's when it all went wrong.

"What did you say?" Hecate hissed.

Cicero looked down at her and saw murder in those blue eyes. This was beyond anger, this was pure hate. It actually made Cicero start to stiffen again to see that look in the Listener's eyes.

"Cicero said the Listener's name," Cicero said innocently.

"No, you didn't," Hecate growled. Cicero could tell that she was trying to not invoke her thu'um by keeping her voice low. "You said Sabrinda. That's not my name."

Sabrinda! Cicero swallowed nervously as he desperately tried to remember what he had exactly said. He hadn't thought of that sister in a long time. "That can't be right, Listener," Cicero giggled timidly.

Hecate stood up as fast as a shot and slapped Cicero hard. "Thinking about other women while with me would be bad enough," she snapped as her hands curled around Cicero's motley and she pulled him close to her face, "but to call out another's name is just insulting. Then you're going to deny it?" She pushed him away. "I hate you."

The Listener turned and fled to her room. Cicero quickly refastened his pants and followed, but he was too late. By the time he got to the door, it was already closed and bolted on the other side.

The jester tried knocking and calling the Listener's name, but there was no reply. She was good and mad at him this time. Who knew when she would be willing to see him again? Cicero sighed as he slumped against the door. This was worse than before. Now Hecate was home and she wasn't talking to Cicero. That was much more terrible than if she was just gone.

"Welcome home," Cicero said softly to the unforgiving door.

But there was just the silence for a reply.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for taking so long between chapters. I did write some more of Taking Care of Business and The Old Codger and the Virign, but I also dragged my feet because I felt a little overwhelmed by the plot. There's so much I want to write and I want to make sure I don't forget any of it or skim over some of the build up. I really feel like I did that at times in For the Future. **

**Also, I was just emotionally drained by writing Lydia's backstory. All of that has been rattling in my head now and finally getting to introduce Elric just left me unable to write for a little bit.**

**Which reminds me. Thanks to Gangyzgirl, ErikArden, Zute, Brilchan, and MightyMerlin for your reviews! It always helps to get feedback from readers. **

**Cicero had it rough in this chapter. He's always a lot more unstable when Hecate is gone and then the minute she gets back they end up fighting! Can you really blame her for being mad?**

**I hope everyone had a good holiday and hopefully I'll be back a little sooner next time.  
**


	7. Falkreath Sanctuary

**Tirdas 27 Frostfall 205 4E 6:00 PM**

"Where is Hecate?" Nazir asked. He was holding the list of names the Listener had given him that held the petitioners of the Night Mother. "I can't read some of her writing and I need her to decipher."

Babette and Meena had been sitting in the vampire's room, gossiping about Meena's trip to Winterhold. Nazir stood in the doorway, looking uncomfortable with walking in on the girl talk.

"That one is still sulking in her room," Meena said smugly. Her tail lashed back and forth with amusement. The Khajiit had a personal rivalry with the Listener that Hecate generally ignored. It always pleased Meena whenever Hecate was placed in a poor position.

"She's still in there?" Nazir said in disbelief. He shook his head. "This has to stop. I don't care what kind of lover's quarrel they had; it is time for Cicero and Hecate to make up." He gestured to Babette. "Babette, my girl, I trust you'll handle this."

"Me?" Babette squawked. "Why me?"

"Because you're the oldest," Nazir said smugly. "Besides, Hecate trusts you. I think you're her closest friend except when she and Cicero are getting along."

"Ugh," Babette made a face. "If I have to, I will, but I cannot stand the thought of those two groping each other again. I prefer it when they're feuding."

"Please do it," a male voice said from the hallway. Nazir turned to his left and saw Vedave on the ground. The Dunmer dragged himself up to the doorway so he could stick his head into the room. "Please, please, please talk to Hecate. I can't take it anymore. Cicero is always hanging out in my lab whining to me about how sad he is and at least the two of us understand what it's like to lose a loved one."

"Is Anaril still writing to you?" Nazir asked, looking down at the Dark Elf sprawled at his feet.

"Yes," Vedave pouted, "but not as much as he used to. He says he's busy."

"Aw, poor thing," Nazir said, looking completely like he didn't care.

"Hey, I didn't come here to complain about my love life," Vedave snapped. "I'm not even worried about Anaril. He's welcome to any distractions he wants. It's not like I have to be celibate or anything. We elves understand that you can't reasonably expect two people to be together forever. We'll drift apart and maybe one day meet again."

The mage stood up and dusted himself off. "What I can't take is that jester hanging off me crying every day. I'm trying to work on delicate experiments. What if he here were to knock into them or start to juggle them? It could be disastrous."

Babette sat up straighter at that proclamation. She had her own set of chemicals brewing in the laboratory that she shared with the Brotherhood. The vampire and the mage had their own area set aside, but any sibling was welcome to use the alchemy lab to brew simple healing poultices or poisons.

"Fine, fine," Babette said casually, trying to not let the others see how important her experiments were. She didn't want to encourage any of them to tease her or inquire about her brews. "I will talk to Hecate after Meena finishes telling me about her hunt in Winterhold."

"Hunt?" Nazir asked, his brow furrowing. "I don't remember any contracts out that way."

"Oh," the cat-kin chirped with amusement. "It wasn't that type of hunt." Her mismatched blue and green eyes sparkled impishly. "Meena heard there was a male Khajiit up there named J'Zhargo. She has not felt a male of her kind for some time, so she went prowling."

"Oh, Sithis," Nazir held his hands over his ears. "I do NOT want to hear about Khajiit mating rituals." There had always been rumors about how similar to cats Khajiit were, especially in regards to the male organ. The Redguard Speaker could go the rest of his life without finding out. "I swear there are some days I wish I had gone with Garnag to Wayrest," he grumbled as he stomped off. "It can't be as hectic there as it is here. At least he's been sending me copies of all the recipes he's found."

As Nazir entered the eating area, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around and saw that Vedave had followed him out. "Hey, if you don't mind, I really do need to get out of Sanctuary for a while."

"Looking for a contract, eh?" Nazir chuckled. The Redguard couldn't resist throwing in a pun. "You think you have a burning itch you need to scratch?"

"Ha, ha," Vedave said dryly. It was no secret that he liked fire magic. It was how the Brotherhood had discovered him after all. He had fireballed three useless classmates because he wanted to see if they would burn differently in relation to their location within the burst radius. Results had shown that it hadn't matter, which was perfectly acceptable to him. "I'm serious. I need to go kill something before I scream at Cicero. He's bad enough weepy, but I don't want to risk riling him up. I haven't forgotten what he did to Eiruki."

Eiruki was a Nord who had joined the Dark Brotherhood a year ago. The girl was quiet and shy which meant she mostly kept to herself. No one would have cared one lick if it hadn't been for her hobby. Your pursuits were your own in the Brotherhood. The only problem was she liked to play with the Night Mother's coffin.

Some of the Brotherhood thought she was just very devout. Why not? Now that Hecate was the leader of the guild instead of Astrid, the Five Tenets were back in full effect. Nazir had seen Aventus kneeling before the Night Mother's shrine on more than one occasion when she had still been on public display.

But there had been something about Eiruki's actions that made Nazir think she had been targeting Cicero instead of revering the Night Mother. He didn't think her innocent actions had been quite so innocent. Why constantly leave items out that Cicero would find and know someone had been touching his charge? No, he was pretty certain she had been taunting the Keeper.

Why? No one knew. Eiruki didn't really talk to anyone except maybe Aventus. Given some conversations Nazir had with the boy, it was clear she was as mysterious as the dark side of the moons to him.

In the end, Eiruki had pushed once too often and Cicero had flipped out and attacked her. If he had just hit her once or kicked her away, it would have been forgivable. The Keeper had been very verbal about his displeasure at Eiruki's "disrespect" toward the Night Mother's coffin.

Unfortunately, Cicero had beaten the girl severely and had almost choked her to death. Thankfully, they had been able to pull him off her and sequester him in Hecate's room. The Listener had been out hunting with Deesei when the incident occurred so Cicero had been left in solitary confinement for hours.

It had been nerve wracking with Cicero screaming his fool head off about how he wanted out and constantly slamming furniture in Hecate's room. Vedave and Anaril had wanted to sedate the jester, but Nazir and Garnag had refused. Nazir had said no because he was worried Cicero could overpower the two mages before they could cast their spells. The Keeper had always been a whirlwind when it came to combat and he was more crazed than usual. Who knew how he'd react after being locked up? Garnag had refused because he felt it was disrespectful of the Keeper's position.

Garnag had blamed himself for what had happened. He felt that he was the reason for Cicero's instability or at least his deteriorated stability. Being forced to deal with a part of his past had been too much for the Fool. The two of them had plotted together and killed the last Speaker of Cheydinhal because the Khajiit had falsely claimed to be the Listener, unaware that Cicero would know the truth because of the Keeping Tomes. The orc's return to the Brotherhood was a constant reminder to the Fool of what they had done. Even if it had been the right choice, Cicero was plagued with guilt for the infraction against the Tenets. Garnag had hoped that if he left, then Cicero would get better.

In some ways, the old orc had been right. Cicero had improved without the stress of Eiruki's pranks or the memories of Cheydinhal that Garnag represented. On the down side, the jester tended to unravel if Hecate was gone for any length of time.

He would slip into the past. Get confused if people were real or not. Go hiding in the catacombs to wherever he had hidden the Night Mother's body. No one except Hecate knew where the shrine was now, so if Cicero vanished and something happened to him, he would never be found.

Nazir just really hoped that given enough time Cicero would get back to the slightly manic state he had been in after the Purification of Falkreath. He had been invasive, loud, and nosy, but at least he had been cheerful. Nowadays they had to deal with weeping and ranting. It was a bit much.

Most of the time, Hecate was there to calm the little man down. She'd hold him and reassure him that everything was fine. When she was out for whatever reason and Cicero had an episode, she would put everything down and go find Cicero upon returning. Then this current feud happened. She had been gone for almost a month and the day she returned, they had some fight that left Hecate secluded in her room and Cicero scratching on the door like some damn stray.

It was disgraceful.

Nazir really hoped Babette would get things sorted out. She was really good at understanding people's emotions and how to bend them to her whim. The vampire child might not be trained in seduction like Gabriella had been, but she was still a master manipulator. Centuries of tricking victims into thinking she was a child so she could drain them dry had certain other benefits when it came to diplomacy.

* * *

**Tirdas 27 Frostfall 205 4E 7:00 PM**

"Go away."

Babette frowned at the muffled reply from the Listener. She knocked on the door again, this time saying, "Listener, it is Babette."

"**BEX!"**

The door swung open, although no one was near it. The vampire stepped into the room, her nose wrinkling at the smell. For a human, it would have been a little stale, but to Babette, the room reeked of misery.

There was a lump on the bed bundled up with several furs that could only be the Listener. Sitting on the table was a tray holding the day's lunch. Cicero had probably made it for Hecate and left it outside. It looked barely touched. There were several other trays littered on the table, all of them looking like a few bites had been taken before being rejected.

Hecate was curled up on her side with her back to Babette. The Breton could only see a few tufts of black waist-length hair poking out from under the furs. The vampire child climbed on the bed, trying to not react to the smell.

The Listener had clearly not bathed since her return. Her hair was oily and limp, her bed clothes were rumpled, and her face looked blotchy. Snot-covered cloths were littered all over one side of the bed. Hecate didn't even turn to greet Babette; she just sniffled miserably with her hands steepled over her mouth.

"Oh, Listener," Babette murmured as she smoothed the hair away from Hecate's sweaty forehead.

She didn't allow herself to get close to mortals. Three hundred years had been long enough for the small unchild to learn that you always had to stay goodbye sooner or later. Regardless of race, assassins rarely had long life spans. Even a haughty Altmer could die from a well-placed guard's sword. Babette mostly kept to herself because it didn't feel worthwhile to become attached.

It was hard though. She craved for her own companion. Aventus was supposed to be that long awaited answer – a child near her physical age who was also a killer. Then he had the audacity to grow up and decide that he didn't want the Dark Gift. It had been an insult! After all she had done for the boy and he found mortality more appealing.

Maybe that's why she resented Cicero so much. Not only had he brought chaos and change to Falkreath that had resulted in the death of her Family, but he had given Aventus a reason to not only want but also need to grow up. The boy had seen a man's desires in Cicero's dedication to Hecate and had coveted it for himself.

Babette had tried to turn Aventus away from Cicero. The two of them had been close when the boy first arrived. Cicero always enjoyed new family members and had immediately bonded with the child. But a few well-placed whispers in Aventus' ear had opened his eyes to Cicero's ways. If only if they hadn't focused them on Hecate instead.

Still, Babette couldn't find it in her to hate the Listener. She was so naïve and oblivious in so many ways. More importantly Babette knew Hecate would stay. Where others would die or leave, Hecate would always be here. Not aging because of her dragon's soul, bound to the Night Mother's location, and rarely taking contracts, she would be a good substitute for companionship until the vampire found something more permanent.

In the meantime, Babette had to keep her happy or she was no good to her.

"Tell me what happened," Babette commanded as she brushed the Listener's hair.

"I can't," Hecate muttered. Even with her hands over her mouth and her voice pitched low, the bed shuttered at her words.

It was easy to forget that Hecate secluded herself for reasons other than childish pouting. Her voice got out of control when she was upset. Although she showed no qualms about using it on Cicero, Hecate avoided invoking on the Voice on anyone else in the Brotherhood. People still remembered how Ulfric Stormcloak had Shouted High King Torygg to death and were uncomfortable with a Shout being directed their direction regardless of intent. Clearly it was particularly bad right now if three days of solitary confinement hadn't weakened it any.

"I cannot help you if I don't know what happened," Babette urged. It would be better to risk the thu'um than to let it linger and fester.

Hecate sighed, eyes leaking tears, as she curled up even tighter. Moments passed as she wept. Finally, she spoke, so low a mortal wouldn't have heard her. "Cicero doesn't love me."

Babette almost laughed out loud at the ridiculous statement. The Keeper did not love her? Where in the world did Hecate get such a ridiculous idea?

"Why do you think that?" Babette asked, hiding her smile behind a hand.

"We were…" Hecate paused, clearly feeling awkward.

"You were being intimate," Babette sighed. It amused her how Hecate sometimes forgot that Babette wasn't really a child and would try to shield her from adult themed conversation. It was especially ironic since Babette could frequently hear the Imperial orgasming as she Shouted her release.

"Yes," Hecate admitted. "When Cicero…finished, he called out some woman's name."

"Who?" This was an interesting twist of events.

"Some woman named Sabrinda," Hecate said. "I don't think she's part of the Brotherhood. We don't have any female Imperial initiates. I can only guess she's from Dawnstar."

"Hecate, why not just ask Cicero who it is?" Babette asked. The Listener just made a whimpering sound and curled even further under her furs. "Oh for Sithis' sake, why ever not?"

"I can't," Hecate wailed. "I just can't."

"You know he loves you," Babette insisted. "Do you really think a man who does not adore you would take the time to set food out for you every day and scrape at your door like a hound locked out of his master's home?"

"Cicero was leaving the food?" Hecate asked, poking her head out a little.

"Yes!"

"I thought it was Nazir," the Listener admitted.

Babette had to refrain from slapping her forehead in frustration. The two fools were meant for each other.

Hecate shook her head morosely. "Cicero's just being the Keeper. He's always made it clear to me that his duties as Keeper are first. He just wants to tend to the Listener. It's not about me at all."

"If that is the case, then why would he find comfort with some theoretical woman in Dawnstar?" Babette insisted. "How can you really believe that Cicero only cares for you because of your position and then have an affair with someone not even in the Brotherhood? Honestly, and we all thought Cicero was the mad one."

"Then why did he say her name?"

"I have no idea," Babette exclaimed. She decided that she could not help throw in a little teasing. "You know Cicero better than anyone else here. The two of you are married after all."

"We are not married!" Hecate protested. The bed rumbled from her voice.

"Then why are you wearing his ring?" Babette pointed to the silver and amethyst Hecate always wore.

"I promised."

"You really are oblivious," Babette sighed. She decided to change tactics by pointing to the shelf that held the shattered remains of Hecate's tragedy mask. "Why haven't you either repaired or replaced that?"

"It's stupid," Hecate whined. "The Stormcloaks didn't even know what it was."

"And?" Babette urged.

"And what's the point," Hecate huffed. "The reason I made the masks was to be a symbol. Comedy and tragedy. They don't know what it means, so it is a wasted effort."

"Do you not see how that is so much better than if they did know?" Babette asked, stunned by Hecate's complaint. "People fear what they do not know so much more than what they do. Look at your own situation, Listener."

"Ulfric understood," Hecate merely grunted.

"Ulfric Stormcloak was not only a very well educated noble and high ranking soldier before he created his own army, but he was a master tactician," Babette sniffed. "It is completely unreasonable to expect his common born foot soldiers to have the same level of competency."

Hecate grumbled some more, but Babette could tell that she was absorbing what the vampire had said. The Breton could practically see the gears turning in her head as she thought. The rumbling had started to fade as Hecate spoke, a very positive sign.

"Talk to Cicero, fix your mask, and go kill some people," Babette advised as she hopped off the bed. She felt she had felt her obligation on the matter. If Nazir was not happy with the results, he could damn well come in here and deal with the Listener. "You both will feel much better after you have shed some blood."

"Cicero's been miserable?" Hecate asked.

"Gods, you have no idea what it is like for him when you are gone," Babette said stiffly. "I think it is high time you learned." She gave a quick curtsy with a sardonic smile. "Good day, Listener."

* * *

**Turdas 29 Frostfall 205 4E 2:00 PM**

"The old Falkreath Sanctuary?" Cicero asked as they traveled through the Pine Forest.

The Keeper had obediently followed Hecate when she had finally emerged from her room on Middas morning. Cicero had been curled up with his back against the wall next to her room. The only thing Hecate had done was jerk her head and Cicero had gotten up and trailed behind her.

Other than grabbing Hecate's smithing supplies, packing some travel food, and quickly telling Nazir that they would be back no later than Sundas, the two of them hadn't wasted any time summoning Shadowmere and leaving Sanctuary. His hands had never strayed from their chaste position around her waist as the black mare charged across the countryside.

When they had stopped to eat, Hecate had handed Cicero some normal clothes with the command, "Change." When Cicero came back, traveling tack had been set out and Hecate was quietly watching a stream burble nearby as she chewed on some bread. Instead of wearing her shrouded armor, she was dressed in a simple green dress with her hair pulled back into a ponytail that fell down her back.

The Keeper sat next to the Listener and ate his share of the food. Cicero rambled about whatever was on his mind – the Night Mother, Vedave's experiments, Nazir's cooking, and Meena's contracts. Hecate hadn't spoken, but she had smiled and that was something. It made Cicero happy.

When it got dark, they had stopped in Whiterun to get a room. Hecate had been nervous since this had been her home from before the Brotherhood. They had passed Breezehome quickly with Hecate not even glancing it at as far as Cicero would tell.

No one thought it was strange for the Imperial woman decided to keep the hood of her cloak up while Cicero rented a room at the Drunken Huntsman. It was late enough in the year that there was a constant nip in the air. They had slept side by side as brother and sister, arms innocently wrapped around each other. Cicero had desperately wanted to do more, but he could tell that Hecate wasn't ready for things to be normal again. Instead he had given her a butterfly kiss. She had rewarded him with another smile and that was enough for the Fool of Hearts for now.

Now they were in front of the old Sanctuary. Even three years after the Penitus Oculatus had attacked and set the place aflame the area was still covered in soot. Nothing grew within a hundred feet of the Sanctuary's husk. Tree stumps poked out of the ground like skeletal hands reaching for the sky.

Thankfully there were no bodies here. The Penitus Oculatus had long ago recovered their fallen comrades for proper burial, probably in the huge cemetery in the Falkreath village. Who knew what had happened to their fallen siblings? There had been no time to lay their bodies to rest before the survivors had fled to Dawnstar. They had barely had time to gather what few supplies had not been damaged by the fire and secure the Night Mother's coffin.

As callous as it might have seemed, it had been better to leave the corpses of the fallen behind to be seen. Seeing dead Dark Brotherhood assassins had helped lull the cleanup team into thinking they had succeeded in destroying the Brotherhood. It had given the living members more time to regroup and plan to kill the Emperor.

Funerals and memorials were a rare luxury for assassins. Too often a child of Sithis died while completing a contract – a guard changed his patrol at the last moment, the contract was stronger than expected, the bonus had been too difficult to achieve. Any number of little mishaps and a family member was never seen again.

The Black Door hung open on its side. Cicero watched as Hecate pulled it closed and waited to see if it would whisper its question, "What is the music of life?" Poetically there was only silence now. The enchantment that helped keep the Sanctuary safe was gone.

Cicero assisted Hecate with unloading their supplies from Shadowmere. In addition to what they had brought from Dawnstar, Hecate had stopped in Falkreath and bought a cord of firewood. They took it down the stairs to Arnbjorn's old forge where she stacked it carefully.

"What are we doing here, my Listener?" Cicero asked

Hecate was crouching by the forge, feeding the fire and gently working the bellows. She looked up at Cicero's question. "I'm reforging our masks. I'll be making an ebony one for myself and a red one for you. I just hope the red paint I picked will hold. Otherwise, I'll have to try steel for yours."

"But why here?" Cicero insisted. He spun a pirouette in the empty floor that used to be the training area. "Why come all the way down here to use this forge? There was a perfectly fine one in Dawnstar. There was even one in Whiterun and Falkreath."

"Two in Whiterun, actually," Hecate chuckled sadly, referring to the Skyforge. She shook her head. "No, these are going to be very memorable. I can't risk someone remembering an Imperial woman asking to use their forge and seeing what I've made. It's safer to come here."

"And more nostalgic?" Cicero asked.

"That too," Hecate admitted. "This was our home. It's where we started. I think continuing the Brotherhood's legacy with these masks being made here is a good homage to those we lost."

"Cicero is not sure Arnbjorn would have been pleased," Cicero giggled. The jester hunched over almost in half with his arms swinging to the sides. He pitched his voice to a low, gruff almost growl. "'Tidbit, you better get away from my forge before I bite you in half.'"

Hecate giggled at Cicero's antics as he continued to imitate the werewolf. "Did you like Arnbjorn, Cicero?"

The Keeper paused and tapped his chin as he thought. "Cicero loves all of his family, although admittedly some more than others. Cicero liked the wolf better when he wasn't being Astrid's sheepdog." He scowled at the memory. "The Pretender Cicero did not care for. No, not one bit. The harlot dared to slander Mother!"

"Would you think less of me if I said I mourned her death?" Hecate asked.

"No, no dear Sister," Cicero skipped over to her and hugged her. "Family must be able to forgive each other. If we don't, who will? Besides, she has long since met the Wrath of Sithis."

Hecate wrapped one arm around Cicero's waist and leaned against him. She enjoyed how warm and soft he felt. When she looked up at him, Cicero gave her a kiss. It started as an innocent butterfly kiss that quickly deepened into one that promised much more. He didn't press past her lips, but it was definitely not a brother's kiss.

"Am I forgiven?" he asked forlornly.

"On one condition," Hecate said as she pulled away.

"Anything," Cicero promised. "Cicero is yours to command, my Listener. Always."

"Tell me about Sabrinda," Hecate said as she finished reading the forge.

Cicero licked his lips nervously. "Cicero isn't sure…" he began.

"I need to know, Cicero," Hecate insisted. She faced the Keeper. "I have to know who this woman is that she steals your thoughts when you're with me." She swallowed hard. "I need to know if you love her. I'll release you from your duties as Keeper to me if there is another in your life. I won't force you to make love to me when there's another you want to be with. Is she a maid in Dawnstar? Someone you met when we were in Solitude?"

"Oh, Listener!" Cicero exclaimed. His hands fluttered about nervously. "No, no, no! There's not one by you, my dear, sweet Hecate!" He knelt before her and took her hand so he could kiss it.

"Then tell me who she is!" Hecate cried, tears running down her face. "Tell me because I can't stand not knowing. Why?"

Cicero moved so he was sitting cross legged before Hecate. His face was serious for a change. Assassins didn't normally talk about their pasts, especially before their life with the Brotherhood. They were born again in the blood they shed for the Night Mother. The person they were didn't matter so much as the person they had become.

Cicero didn't like lingering on who he had been in Cheydinhal. That man was dead. Cicero had been reborn. But he did owe it to his sweet Hecate. It wasn't as if she had asked about his birth family or his childhood, which was another bee's nest completely.

Yes, he would tell her about when Bruma Sanctuary was destroyed and how he came to Cheydinhal. He would tell her about Sabrinda Vicici and her crooked smile, her sharp wit, and her tendency to tease before granting Cicero her the favor of her bed. Of her twin Synniu who didn't care for Cicero very much and was jealous of another having her other half's attention.

Cicero would tell of how she had been one of the first of his new family to greet him wholeheartedly into Cheydinhal. He would tell of how she died. And how he thought that maybe he could have saved her life. But he hadn't because the Tenets came first.

"Sit down," Cicero said, patting the area next to him. His voice had lost some of its high-pitched edge as he started to remember his lost family. "Sit down and listen, my Listener. It is a long story."

* * *

**A/N: Thanks to EllaBea, MasterAssassin2012, and Zute for their reviews on the last chapter. I honestly thought there would be more response to Cicero and Hecate's return, but I've never been good at judging such things.**

**Next chapter will be a flashback. I think I'll work on Taking Care of Business first. Hopefully something a little more cheerful. **


	8. Sabrinda Vicici

**Morndas 23rd of Evening Star, 4E 186 5:00 PM**

"Cicero, we are most pleased that you have joined our Family in Cheydinhal," Rasha said smoothly. The black furred Khajiit was lounging comfortably in his chair; tail swishing lazily as he kneaded the armrests. They had retreated to Rasha's private room, a privilege befitting his role of Speaker, for Cicero's interview of what had happened in Bruma that had caused him to flee to Cheydinhal.

Cicero thought it odd that the Speaker did not look more concerned about the loss of Bruma Sanctuary, but kept his tongue. The young Imperial didn't speak up much. His tongue rarely waggled what his eyes saw. And who was he to question the motivations of a member of the Black Hand? Cicero was a simple assassin. It was his job to execute contracts, not question his superiors.

"Do you know the history of these halls?" Rasha asked as he refilled Cicero's wine glass.

"Yes, Speaker," he answered softly.

"Purification," the Speaker murmured as he swirled the blood red wine in his own goblet. He leaned back in his seat, his chin rested in one paw. "Terrible story. A whole hall lost and none guilty of the crime they were suspected of." The Khajiit's ear flicked at the story. "Rasha reminds the young one because we remember loss better than most. None will bother you here. This is Sanctuary. This is home. Cicero is most welcome here."

"Thank you," Cicero said not sure if he could say more past the lump in his throat.

It had been a terrifying week for the Imperial. He had returned to Bruma after a contract to find the place still ablaze. He had immediately turned around and headed south to Cheydinhal, to safety. There had been no reason to try to go into the husk of Bruma. The Thalmor were notorious for their thoroughness and would have left none alive. If any had managed to escape or had been gone during the attack, they would have done the same as Cicero. Fall back and regroup.

"I don't know how Bruma was run," Rasha said, "but I doubt it was very different from here. We don't abide by any rules outside of the Tenets. You keep your own schedule, you clean up after yourself, and you take contracts when you see fit." He paused, not sure if this youngling needed babying or not. The Imperial struck Rasha as twitchy and nervous, traits that were either a blessing or a bane depending on the assassin. "Rasha does not spend much time in Sanctuary. His duties demand that he travel as per the Night Mother's instructions. If you need anything…"

"I will be fine, thank you," Cicero interjected.

It seemed that the Imperial wasn't going to just fold up and curl in a corner distraught over the death of the siblings of Bruma Sanctuary. Good. Rasha had neither the time nor inclination to coddle assassins.

"Find a cot, call it your own," Rasha said, waving his hand. "You are dismissed, Eliminator."

* * *

**Morndas 23rd of Evening Star, 4E 186 5:15 PM**

Cicero stood in the doorway of the common sleeping area. His satchel was tightly clutched in his fists while the strap dug into his chest. It was difficult to tell whose bed was whose. They were all neatly made and if any of them had any personal items out for decoration, Cicero couldn't tell.

How to pick one without rifling through a sibling's things?

When Cicero had been initiated into Bruma four years ago, he had been assigned a mentor who had given him a tour of the facilities and helped him pick out his own bed and dresser. But that had been when he was new and the Thalmor's extermination of the Dark Brotherhood had not started in earnest. Now Sanctuaries were being destroyed or abandoned everywhere as the Aldmeri Dominion's iron grip spread across Tamriel.

"Feeling a little lost?" a female voice asked from behind Cicero.

The redhead whirled around, startled at the new presence. He had not felt her approach at all!

Cicero saw a woman in her mid- to late twenties, making her several years old than he. She was an Imperial also with green cat-like eyes and long brown hair. The front part was cut short with bangs that curled around her face, but the back was styled into a rat's tail that hung past her shoulders and curled up into an upside-down question mark. Her crooked smile immediately made Cicero feel more comfortable.

"Sorry for startling you," she said her tone not the least bit apologetic. The woman stuck her hand out in traditional Imperial greeting. "You must be the new guy. I'm Sabrinda Vicici. Welcome to the Family."

"Cicero." His mental checklist for handshaking rambled through Cicero's head as he took Sabrinda's hand. Shake firmly, but not hard enough to establish dominance. Keep eye contact to show confidence, but don't linger as to not imply aggression. Smile just enough to be friendly, but not enough to show teeth.

"If you're looking for a bed, I can point out which ones are empty," Sabrinda said, placing her hand on Cicero's upper arm to guide him into the room. He noted that she was a few inches taller than he. Not surprising. Almost everyone was taller than Cicero. "It used to not matter who slept where, but nowadays there are more and more of us crowding into here so we need to make sure no toes are stepped on."

The female flopped onto a bed near a corner. "This one is available. You look like the type who needs a little more privacy and one less neighbor would be ideal." Cicero smiled at her words, amused that she had pegged him so accurately. Although Bruma had been a fully functional Sanctuary, it had been rare for more than one or two assassins to be in at any given time and Cicero did prefer the quiet. It didn't look like he would get much in his new home. "And best of all, I am one bed over from you." Sabrinda pointed to the bed next to the one she was currently on.

"I appreciate your help," Cicero said as he sat beside Sabrinda.

"Any time!" she chirped as she sat up. Sabrinda threw an arm around Cicero's shoulders. "Family should watch out for each other. We're all we have against the world. Don't worry. You're going to fit in fine around here."

Cicero chuckled lowly. If all of his new Family was this friendly, he had no doubts that he would settle in just fine.

* * *

**Turdas 26th of Evening Star, 4E 186 10:00 AM**

"Excuse me, Garnag, have you seen Sabrinda?" Cicero asked.

He had just entered the sleeping area and had noticed the orc mage sitting at the common table sifting through some alchemical ingredients he had gathered the other day. In the far corner of the room, an Imperial woman with long brown hair and short bangs sat up on her bed.

"Why I'm right here," the woman said cheerfully as she slinked over to Cicero. She wrapped her arms around Cicero and pouted. "How could you have forgotten me already?"

"You're not Sabrinda," Cicero commented. Admittedly, she looked like a spitting image of the other woman, but Cicero could tell that she wasn't. He glanced over at Garnag who was struggling to keep a straight face and failing horribly. "Garnag, what is this all about?"

"Oh, did you tell?" the woman grumbled, moving away from Cicero and crossing her arms. Her face had turned down into an ugly visage. Her pinched nose and thinned lips from being thwarted didn't suit her in the slightest.

"Not a word from any of us, Synniu," Garnag chortled. "Cicero had no clue."

Synniu snorted and returned to her bed. Cicero noted that it neighbored Sabrinda's other side.

"Don't let her get to you," Garnag winked. "They love doing the 'Let's confuse people by switching' thing all twins indulge in. You're just the first to figure it out before being told. I have to admit that I'm rather impressed since you didn't even know Sabrinda had a twin."

Cicero watched Synniu as she flopped gracelessly onto her bed. It was true they looked alike, but Cicero had been able to tell right away that they were complete opposites. There was nothing in the way Synniu moved that was anything like Sabrinda. While Sabrinda was playful and friendly, Synniu moved like a feral animal who had been hurt one time too many by supposedly kind hands.

The redhead frowned at the thought. It was uncharitable – an ideal that didn't normally matter to assassins, but it did matter in regards to the Family. He felt guilty for immediately being put on edge by this new Sister, but Cicero had lived by his instincts since he had joined that Brotherhood at the age of sixteen and he wasn't going to stop any time soon.

* * *

**Middas 1st of Rain's Hand, 4E 187 4:00 PM**

Cicero slid down the step ladder of the hidden well entrance into Sanctuary. He was feeling elated at the completion of his Baroness contract and couldn't wait to detail it in his journal. It had been four months since he had transferred to Cheydinhal and life couldn't have been better.

The Imperial still missed his first Family and sometimes he dreamed about his Brothers and Sisters, but this new one had accepted him fully, except maybe Synniu Vicici. She had never forgiven him for seeing through her charade, but there was nothing Cicero could have done about that.

Cicero skidded to a halt as he entered the sleeping area. It was empty except for Sabrinda who was lounging on her bed reading a book. "Where's Synniu?" Cicero asked with false cheerfulness. He didn't want to have to deal with the twin's dark glares as he recorded his contract in his journal.

"Out on contract," Sabrinda said as she marked her place and put the book on a nearby shelf. "I'm lying low until it's time for me to join her."

The twins worked as a pair for contracts. One would establish an identity with the contract or a close associate so they could learn the schedule of the household and where valuables were kept. Frequently the second twin would switch in to help keep track of identities and to prevent any slipups. Then when the time was right, the standby twin would be in open view for an alibi while the primary twin completed the contract.

The two of them took great delight in this setup. They loved fooling people with their nearly indistinguishable appearances and it was perfect for any contracts with long term con bonuses. If an item needed to be stolen from a safe or high class information of a company was exchanging hands, they were always the ones chosen for the assignment.

Cicero thought it was kind of funny that Synniu who was always so stiff and stilted around him could so easily adopt charming personalities for her victims. But that was part of the appeal of the Brotherhood. Siblings had to wear masks when out in ordinary society, but in Sanctuary they could simply be themselves. There was no shame in reveling in the sheer number of murders one had committed or the joy of feeling the lifeblood of your victim oozing through your hands.

"You just returned from your own contract, didn't you?" Sabrinda asked as she sat up. Cicero was sitting on his own bed and pulling out his journal. He was already thinking of how he would pen the story for his records. He nodded absentmindedly as he reached for his quill. "Tell me about it."

He paused, quill still posed in the air about to be dipped into the inkpot. He looked at Sabrinda to see if she was teasing him. She didn't normally, but the female assassin was known to play pranks. Cicero felt a flush of confusion to see that Sabrinda's request had been sincere.

Although Cicero eagerly wrote the details of contracts in his journal, he had never seen himself as a storyteller. He could recall his father commenting on one of the rare occasions the two of them had been in residence that there was a huge difference between bards and historians. Historians wrote down events for prosperity while bards would sing about them. Very rarely would the two ever mix.

"I, um, I…" Cicero stammered.

Sabrinda laughed as she moved so she was sitting next to Cicero. She gently placed a hand on his leg and squeezed it. "Just start at the beginning," she suggested.

If she had been mocking in any way, Cicero would have just taking his writing supplies and left. But Sabrinda had been earnest in her curiosity. Somehow Cicero found himself telling of how he had infiltrated the Baroness' household as a guard. Weeks of getting closer and closer to the Baroness, always a helpful hand and a ready smile had earned her trust. Finally, she had assigned him to guard her bedroom and shortly after invited him into it. Just when she was on the peak of completion, he had buried his dagger into her chest.

"Oh Sithis!" Sabrinda exclaimed with a scandalous laugh. "You killed her before she got to finish? You terrible man!"

"I was pulling on my pants when the handmaiden came in," Cicero confessed. He could feel his heart beat faster at Sabrinda's crooked smile. It was an odd feeling, one he had never experienced before. "It was a messy kill."

"Tell me about it," Sabrinda demanded as she wrapped her arms around Cicero's neck and drew closer to him. Her face was flushed and her breathing deepened as Cicero described gutting the maid so she couldn't scream for help and then desperately cramming her under the bed to hide her. He thought she would laugh again at his frantic attempts, but instead Sabrinda murmured, "Clever boy," before kissing him.

Before Cicero could really wrap his mind around what was happening, Sabrinda was wrapping her legs around him and pushing him onto his bed. Clothes flew everywhere and the sex was quick and frantic. Afterwards, sated and with Sabrinda curled up asleep on his arm, Cicero managed to jot down a short entry.

_Completed the baroness contract. She died well. Her handmaiden, less so._

He would flesh out the details later. But for now he curled up next to his Sister and fell asleep enjoying the warm body next to him. Sex wasn't something Cicero gave a lot of thought. He had a normal male's drive and turned to a priestess of Dibella when the urge hit him if nothing else was available. But for the most part, he saw physical intimacy as another tool of the trade. It was simply a way to get into the target's confidence and make them vulnerable for an easy kill. This had been different, though he couldn't say how.

* * *

**Middas 15****th**** of Sun's Dawn 189 4E 2:00 PM**

The next two years passed with almost no change within Sanctuary. Cicero went on contracts and kept a record of everything that happened to the Brotherhood in his journals. Occasionally he and Sabrinda slept together, but it was never exclusive. Often it would happen after he returned from a contract and regaled her with the tale, but sometimes it would be simply when the mood took her. It never bothered Cicero that Sabrinda had slept with everyone in the Sanctuary at some point. Assassins were not bound by the same rules as others, including in matters of fidelity. Even if he had some possessive nature regarding Sabrinda, Cicero felt that he could never deny another sibling anything.

In the outside world, the effects of the Great War still shook Cyrodiil as the Thalmor systematically rooted out hidden followers of Talos. Wayrest Sanctuary was destroyed by corsairs while Corinthe Sanctuary was closed down and absorbed by Cheydinhal. The worst came when Bravil fell into civil unrest when the two largest skooma traffickers started a drug war.

Without a proper contingent of assassins, the Listener Alisanne Dupre had been forced to hire sell-swords to protect her home and the crypt of the Night Mother. Rasha decided that he could afford to send Garnag and Andronica to help the Listener. Cicero begged to go too but Rasha refused, citing that Cicero was needed to help defend Cheydinhal. Privately Cicero wondered what possibly could have been more important than defending the Night Mother, but respected Rasha's order.

After all he was Cicero's superior, and to disobey would be to incur the Wrath of Sithis.

Later Cicero would suspect that the Khajiit had sent the bare minimum help he could reasonably get away with not appear to be disrespecting the Night Mother. Given Rasha's eventual betrayal, Cicero suspected the cowardly cat-kin had held the strongest of the Family back to protect his own hide while leaving the Listener to burn in mage fire.

When the Night Mother had been brought to Cheydinhal by a gravely injured Garnag, everyone thought a new Listener would be chosen and life would continue as normal. But the Unholy Matron remained silent. The crippled Black Hand gathered and Cicero was chosen as Keeper. He was given one last contract: to kill the Jester.

That had been two weeks ago.

"Cicero, are you busy?" Sabrinda asked.

"No, what is it?" Cicero responded. He had been sitting at the small table in the main hall as he reread the Keeping Tomes when Sabrinda approached him. He noticed that the other Imperial was dressed as if she was about to go out. He unconsciously smoothed the fine satin of his new Keeper's robes. It still felt strange to move about in the silken cloth instead of his usual Shrouded Armor.

"Tomorrow is Heart's Day," Sabrinda said, smiling shyly. "I was thinking maybe we could get a free room together. Maybe catch up?"

Cicero had not had much time for any of his siblings since he had assumed the mantle of Keeper. He had spent every waking hour reading and rereading the Keeping Tomes as he attempted to at least memorize the ritual of oiling the Night Mother.

"I can't," Cicero said. Sabrinda's tone implied much more than talking and there had probably never been a couple in the entire of Tamriel that used the free rooms for mere conversation.

"Why not?" Sabrinda frowned.

Near the main entrance, Cicero could hear Synniu calling. "Hey, are we leaving or not?"

Sabrinda frowned over her shoulder as she called. "One moment!" She turned back to Cicero. "Are you avoiding me? Is something wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong," Cicero assured her with a small smile.

"I hardly see you any more despite the fact that you're always in Sanctuary now. You don't talk to anyone, which admittedly isn't that unusual for you, but you used to always gather with the rest of us in the evening and at least listen in while we gabbed. You're always reading that book. I miss you and you're right here!" Sabrinda paused her rant, her eyes wide with fear. "It's like you went away."

"Sabrinda, quit chatting with Chickpea," Synniu huffed. "If we don't leave now, we're never going to make it to the Imperial City in time."

"We have a contract," Sabrinda said, switching gears. "Synniu is primary, but I wanted to go with her to see where she was staying and so we could strategize on the trip down. I could come back tomorrow though and you could tell me what is wrong."

"Nothing is wrong," Cicero repeated. "Except that we have no Listener. Sabrinda, I am sworn to the Night Mother now. I'm her Keeper. Surely you understand that."

"I understand that you have new duties and that you've risen in rank considerably," she retorted. "I didn't think that meant you were never to have fun again."

"Sabrinda…" Cicero began.

"That does it! I'm leaving now. With or without you," Synniu yelled. The Black Door could be heard opening and slamming shut.

"Oh, she's impossible," Sabrinda sighed. "Look, I have to go, but we'll discuss this more later." She paused and kissed Cicero on the cheek. "I love you."

Cicero was shocked into silence as Sabrinda threw a backpack on and raced out the door. She had never said that phrase to him before, nor he to her.

They were the last words she ever spoke to him.

* * *

**Fredas 17****th**** of Sun's Dawn 189 4E 9:00 AM**

There was a heavy thump as someone came crashing down the secret well entrance. Cicero ran from the old storage room where the Night Mother's coffin had been moved. Cicero had requested the space be converted into a proper shrine for their Matron and to give him privacy while he oiled her and performed his sacred rites. He never could have concentrated if she had been left in the main room, and it felt blasphemous for prying eyes to linger on the Lady while she was laid bare when Cicero had to disrobe her.

The Imperial's heart thumped in his throat as he ran towards the crash. Had they finally been discovered? Was this Sanctuary lost as well? How would they transport the Night Mother? Where could they go?

Instead of an invading army of Imperial guards, Cicero found Synniu sprawled on the stone floor. It was almost comical to see her, limbs all akimbo. For a moment, he was confused by her return. She had been gone less than two days. Whatever was she doing back? Sabrinda had not come back to Sanctuary as promised yesterday, but Cicero had assumed that Synniu had convinced her beloved sister to stay a day in the Imperial City before returning.

Synniu's cries filled Sanctuary as she tried to stand. Cicero was horrified to see that she was covered with cuts and blood. Her face was a mass of bruises starting to bloom into ugly yellow and purple shades. Her hair was a mess and her eyes were wide enough that it seemed that the whites had engulfed her pupils.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Rasha barked from behind Cicero.

The Keeper turned around to see that the ragged remains of the Dark Brotherhood had gathered together at the ruckus. Rasha, Garnag, Pontius and Bun-za stood about awkwardly. Ardaru and Clagius Laenius had died from a contract about ten days ago.

"Ambushed! Caught! Betrayed!" Synniu wailed. Her pigtail had come loose and her long brown hair fell in waves around her shoulders. "We arrived in the inn for our contract, but he had caught wind of our plans. He knew we were coming and had a squad of Thalmor Justicars waiting for us." Synniu paused as she wept. "Sabrinda…Sabrinda held them off as I managed to get away. I thought she was right behind me because she yelled that she would be. By the time I got to the end of the Imperial City, I had lost them, but she was gone too."

"This is most unfortunate," Rasha said evenly.

"We have to go back," Synniu insisted. She waved toward the exit. "We could infiltrate the prisons. We could get her out!"

"No!" Rasha barked. Synniu went completely still at the Speaker's denial. "There will be no such thing. Don't be ridiculous."

"They are going to have her executed," Synniu said slowly as if to a slow wit. "They'll put her on the chopping block and soon. We have some leeway because they'll want to parade Sabrinda around to show off their prize and they'll try to break her for information. We could do it! We could save her."

"No," Rasha repeated, if a bit softer. "We can't risk the rest of Sanctuary for one lone assassin. It is most saddening that we have lost another Sister, but she is one while we are many." He looked around the room, his tail lashing back and forth violently. "That goes for everyone. No rescue attempts."

"Are you out of your mind?!" Synniu screeched. She held her hands up, beseeching for help. She looked around the room trying to find sympathy, but no one would meet her eyes. Except for Cicero, most of them were already slinking out of the room with their heads down. "Sabrinda has always been there for all of you! Whenever anyone needed anything, she was there. How can you just let her die?"

The twin whirled towards Cicero and grabbed his sleeve. "Please, you'll help right? You understand."

"I can't," Cicero said softly. Part of him ached to go. He knew he could get Sabrinda out even if she was kept in the heavily guarded Imperial Prison or if she was in the equally dangerous Thalmor quarters. He was the best assassin they had, or he had been before he had been forcibly retired.

"WHY NOT?"

"Because Rasha forbade it," Cicero said.

"And?"

The blasphemy gave Cicero pause. "And he's the Speaker," he said. "The Third Tenet states 'Never disobey or refuse to carry out an order from a Dark Brotherhood superior. To do so is to invoke the Wrath of Sithis.' There's nothing I can do, Synniu."

"You're the Keeper!" Synniu insisted. "Surely you outrank the Speaker!"

Cicero paused. To be honest, he wasn't certain where he ranked in the Brotherhood any more. He was happy as a seasoned Eliminator, but now he was neither assassin nor an official member of the Black Hand which was traditionally composed of four Speakers and the Listener. His role of Keeper was an outdated one even if sacred.

"We must keep the Tenets," he said mildly. Before he could turn to leave, Synniu's hand slapped him hard across the face.

"I hate you!" she screamed. "I knew the first time I laid eyes on you that you would be another disappointment! I told Sabrinda that we couldn't trust anyone other than the two of us and I was right!"

Synniu turned, her movements awkward as a drunkard trying to get home after a long night of boozing. Or a wounded animal. She put her hands on the step ladder, ready to climb back out into the real world and leave Sanctuary behind.

"Stay," Cicero begged. "It's dangerous out there."

"At least it's honest. Unlike this place," Synniu hissed. "Don't worry. I won't break any more Tenets while I'm gone. I won't betray the Brotherhood. Even if it has betrayed me and my sister." Then she was up the ladder and gone.

**Turdas 29 Frostfall 205 4E 7:00 PM**

"And then?" Hecate asked. "What happened next?"

"I don't know," Cicero said. He was standing next to the forge. Its low light threw shadows across his face making him look incredibly old or lonely. Or both. "I never saw her again. There were rumors from Garnag two female assassins had been taken to the chopping block in the Imperial City, but I didn't see for myself."

"You didn't go to the execution?" Hecate asked. She couldn't imagine staying away if one of theirs was taken even if it was only to see them being sent to the Void.

"No, Rasha forbade that too."

The Listener looked down at the weeping ebony mask of tragedy that she had worked on all day while Cicero told his tale. She liked to keep her hands busy since she fidgeted when she was nervous and listening to Cicero's history with Sabrinda had definitely left her feeling on edge. The sad elements had seeped into the visage giving it an even more grotesque expression than the first one she had made.

"Do you regret not going?"

"Cicero the assassin knew regret," the Keeper said as he closed his eyes. Hecate could see the sadness melting away on his face as a grin crept back into place. He chuckled lowly. "Cicero the Fool of Hearts, Laughter Incarnate, never, ever regrets! The laughter is our friend! Why would we turn it away?" He spun in a pirouette, graceful despite not currently wearing his motley. The jester laughed madly, his personal grinning mask back in place.

Hecate held her hand out and allowed Cicero to sweep her into a spiraling waltz. The jester sang as they moved together. It was a wordless, tuneless melody, but Hecate had no problem keeping up with Cicero's movements. It wasn't about the rhythm so much as having something to do to avoid thinking about the past.

When Cicero finally started to wind down, Hecate disentangled from him. "We're going to spend the night here. It's too late to bother traveling to Falkreath tonight. Go see if the bedding has been completely destroyed since we were last here."

The Keeper nodded. He moved to their bags and opened the one holding his motley. As he pulled it out, Hecate said, "Now, Cicero."

"But, Listener."

"Now. I want you to do what I asked first." She held out her hand. "Give me your blade. I'll sharpen it."

Cicero paused before handing his ebony dagger over. He had run his hand up and down the hilt, an odd expression on his face. "As you wish, my Listener," he murmured before scurrying off to his chore.

Judging by the cracks in the leather on the handle, the blade was at least a decade old. Hecate absentmindedly checked the crafter's mark and was not surprised when she saw that it was scratched off. Maybe the blade had been stolen or Cicero had not want to risk losing it on a contract and it being traced back to someone who could have identified him. The lack of mark simply meant it had not been made within the Brotherhood.

Although still sharper than any iron dagger, it was woefully dull for the material. Hecate frowned as she hefted the blade in her hand, testing the balance. It had the feel of a poor journeyman's work. Criminal, given how rare ebony was.

As Hecate sat at Arnbjorn's old grindstone, she glanced over at her new mask. It did look fearsome even without the shadows caressing the dark material. She had altered it slightly so the bottom part could disengage from the top, creating a sort of domino mask. It would allow her to Shout if necessary. Hecate supposed she could also eat or drink while wearing the mask, but it was unlikely she would ever be in that situation while in her Tragedy guise.

Tomorrow she would craft a red Comedy mask for Cicero with the same specifications. There was always the chance they would decide to switch masks if just to keep their enemies on their toes. But tonight—well, she had other plans for the Fool of Hearts tonight.

The Listener smiled as the blade's edge sharpened against the rolling stone. The ebony blade would come in handy for what she had in store. "Need to sharpen my blade. Make it shiny, gleamy, and oh, so… deadly," she murmured, mimicking one of Cicero's sayings.

* * *

**Turdas 29 Frostfall 205 4E 8:00 PM**

"And if I spy a singing bird, I'll snap its neck before it's heard," Cicero sang as he bunched the grass he had gathered for their bedding.

Their old bedroom had been a wreck. No small surprise given that it had not been used in three years, not since the Purification of Falkreath. Neither Cicero nor Hecate had bothered to stop to do any repairs after the fire, so there were still dark streaks of soot lining the walls. The ghost of the unfinished mural of Solitude still lined one wall. The fire damage made it look like it was burning in its own fashion.

The first thing Cicero had done was check the hole in the wall above where Hecate's bed was. He was pleased to see that the plug he had made for it was still there. Some of it had come loose over the years, but it had mostly held and kept the moisture and vermin out.

The Keeper efficiently moved about the room, making it tidy enough for them to sleep for the night. He made a temporary fire pit for warmth then gathered grass to make bedding. The old stuff had to be pitched completely. It looked like skeevers had used it for a nest at one point.

The cleaning felt good for Cicero. Putting something else into order helped hold the anxiety at bay. He desperately wanted – no, he _needed_ – his motley. It was his armor. The physical manifestation of Laughter Incarnate wrapped around him, keeping him safe from the silence. But the Listener had given him a command and the Listener must be obeyed.

At least she had given him a command instead of sending him away—or, even worse, leaving. Cicero lived to serve and if that meant being forced into boring, ordinary clothes for a while to please his Listener, so be it.

So instead Cicero cleaned and sang. Maybe finally he would earn Hecate's forgiveness for his foolish mistake. She would let him have his motley back and let poor Cicero sing and dance. And everything would be okay again.

"When I next meet that fair maid, Nelly," Cicero began.

"I'll plunge my knife into her belly," Hecate finished.

Cicero turned around and dimly saw Hecate's silhouette in the entrance. She was standing far enough back that he could only make out the outline of her shape. He chuckled nervously. It was odd for her to linger like that.

"Listener?"

"Keeper."

Cicero licked his lips nervously as seconds passed and Hecate still didn't enter the room. Was she still mad at him after all?

"Do you remember the first day we met? That night in Breezehome?" Hecate asked suddenly.

How could Cicero forget? It had been late at night with the wind rocking the small house as a storm built. Cicero had been sitting by the fire, not able to sleep despite his relief at getting the Night Mother off the dangerous roads and the satisfaction of killing that lying Loreius and his shrew wife.

Hecate, or Diana as she had been at the time, had come downstairs all wide-eyed and barely clothed in her sleeping gown and blanket wrapped around her. Cicero had been unable to resist putting his arm around her and kissing her. Although the Keeping Tomes had not strictly said that it was necessary for the Keeper to practice celibacy, Cicero had not wanted to risk tainting his body with further corruption of the living and had remained as pure as possible.

For that night, for that brief moment, he had craved human contact too much to ignore the chance. Surely one night of naughtiness could be forgiven after years of loyal service? Didn't he deserve one night of just being Cicero the Man instead of Cicero the Keeper, Cicero the Jester, or even Cicero the Assassin?

But the storm had hit and Cicero had fled to protect the Night Mother from the wind, rain, and lightning. His body had ached with need but his soul had demanded that his duties come first.

"I don't think I ever quite forgave you for leaving me half naked and unsated on my living room floor," Hecate continued, taking Cicero's silence as agreement. She finally stepped out of the shadows and when she did Cicero's breath caught in his throat.

The Listener was wearing her motley, indicated by the lack of patches and smoke stains marring the rich blood red color. Smoke from the same fire that had destroyed their first Sanctuary. In her right hand, the ebony dagger gleamed in the fire light. The newly sharpened edge begged to cut something and soon.

Cicero backed away from her as she advanced until the back of his legs were pressed against the bed. He felt nervous from her predatory eyes and how she held the dagger, but there was no sense of anger from her. When one gloved hand touched Cicero's chest, he didn't so much sit on the mattress as he fell.

Hecate chuckled lowly as she moved so she was straddling Cicero's legs. "Clothes are in the way," she observed languidly before slicing Cicero's shirt open. It fell into many strips around the redhead. When she grabbed the top of his pants and pulled it tight, Hecate whispered, "I really hope I don't cut you down there."

That made two of them.

Cicero moaned and tried his best to not move as the tip of the blade parted his trousers. The cool metal brushed against his hot skin. A small cry escaped his lips as Hecate tugged the ruined cloth away leaving him naked on the bed. Hecate ran the flat of the blade over Cicero's torso as she hummed tunelessly.

"I need you to do something for me," she said, her eyes watching the dark ebony pressed against Cicero's skin.

"Anything, my Listener," Cicero breathed.

"You can't come until I tell you that you may," Hecate said. She pressed the dagger against Cicero's chin so his gaze was raised to hers and he could see how serious she was. "I will be very, very disappointed if you disobey."

"Cicero always obeys the Tenets," he promised.

"Excellent, my Keeper," Hecate smiled. "Untie my top." After Cicero complied, resisting from grabbing her swaying breasts until given permission, Hecate commanded, "Remove my pants."

Once that order was fulfilled, Hecate wasted no time impaling herself on Cicero's erection. Cicero's arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. The Keeper bit down on his lip as the Listener moved against him. Normally he had no problems maintaining, but it had been weeks since they had sex—the disastrous blow job notwithstanding. Hecate's cries of pleasure were quite distracting, and being told that he couldn't finish made it that much more difficult to not think about.

Usually in the throes of passion, Hecate would bite and claw Cicero's neck and back. The pain would help him focus and not orgasm until she was done. But today, oh today, she had decided that she was going to be gentle with her Keeper. Not tooth and nail, but sweet murmurs of how much she had missed him and wanted him while she had been gone. It was almost too much.

Wicked, wicked Listener to torment poor Cicero with her sweet love. It almost would have been better if she had decided to beat him. At least that was a type of endurance he was more used to.

Soft hands running down Cicero's back, even softer lips pressing against his, and her tongue invading his mouth and flicking against his. And her body tightening more and more around his. Pleasure beyond words, but Cicero was still at his sweet Hecate's mercy.

"Oh gods," Hecate moaned, her breathing ragged. "Oh, Cicero, my Cicero." Suddenly, she threw back her head and screamed as she came.

The thu'um ripped from her lips and hit the ceiling. The patch Cicero had made crumbled slightly and dirt rained down on the two of them. The two assassins stared in shock before they broke into nervous laughter.

"I guess it was a good thing we never did it here before, huh?" Hecate joked. She slid off Cicero's lap until she was kneeling on the floor. "Now your turn. Don't screw up this time and all is forgiven."

"Even when Cicero abandoned Diana?"

"Sure, why not?" Hecate laughed. "I suppose you've paid your dues."

Then she lowered her lips to his throbbing cock and oh Sithis how wonderful it felt! There was no build up to this either. Her hand stroked him with a furious pace as her tongue lashed against his tip. After their frantic coupling and the promise of release, Cicero knew he wouldn't last much longer.

Cicero sat up so he could look down at Hecate's bobbing head, the flaps of her cap flouncing in opposite rhythm of her movements. Cicero's hand lashed out and knocked the jester's cap away. Hecate's only response was a raised eyebrow and an expression of "Really?" but she didn't stop. He laughed as he wrapped his fingers in her thick, fine hair.

Then Cicero couldn't wait any longer. As he came, he cried out.

* * *

**Fredas 30 Frostfall 205 4E 1:00 PM**

Shadowmere pawed a hoof as the two assassins climbed onto her back. She was eager to get away from Falkreath Sanctuary. This was a dead place, full of the ghosts of the siblings lost in the Purification.

As Cicero wrapped his arms around Hecate, he leaned forward and asked, almost shyly, "Did Cicero do well last night?"

There was a moment of silence as Hecate adjusted the pouch heavy with their new masks. Finally, she nodded. "You did very well, my Keeper."

"Hecate doesn't mind that Cicero said the Binding Words?" he asked, not believing his luck. He had been certain that her quietness the night before when he shouted his love for her when he came would cause more trouble.

The Listener turned around and kissed Cicero on the cheek. "No, I didn't mind. At least that time." She scowled, playfully, but not really at the same time. "Just don't make a habit of it."

"As the Listener commands," Cicero grinned.

No more words were said as the Listener dug her heels into the demon horse and the assassins made their way home.

* * *

**A/N: I apologize for how long it has been between chapters. I got stuck on the scene where Synniu was introduced and decided to take a break for Dragonborn DLC and the holidays. I hope this is a pleasant New Year's Eve gift for my readers.**

**Thanks to Brilchan, Ellabea, Greenycheeks, Fluttermoth, KderNacht, Zute, and MasterAssassin2012 for leaving reviews since the last update! **

**Comments appreciated as always!**


	9. 30th of Frostfall

**Fredas 30 Frostfall 205 4E 12:00 PM**

The soldiers marched wearily along the earthen plain. They had been marching for what felt like forever. The litany of "left forward, right forward" still rang in their ears long after being put to bed at night. They rarely stopped for meals and they never stopped to merely rest. Their mission was too important.

Some had fallen from sheer exhaustion, but still they moved forward toward the enemy. Some marched because of their cause, but many marched because of the love they had for their commander. The golden-haired god who followed in their wake was the reason they strode across the endless ground with the sunless sky high above them.

"Company, halt!" their commander's clear voice rang out.

The men fell easily into two lines, waiting for their lord's words of encouragement.

"I know you are tired," the general said, his voice full of understanding. "I know it has been hard, but we fight for our home. We fight for Skyrim! We must kill the Imperials! We must win for Talos!"

The men cheered, heartened by their leader's words. The general Shouted back, his thu'um ringing across the plains, warning the dirty Imperials of the loyal Stormcloaks approach. They would all fall to….

"Elric Stormcloak, what did I tell you about yelling like that?" Mommy snapped. Lydia was glaring at him from her position over the huge map of Skyrim that dominated the middle of the room. Yrsarald and Ralof were there too and not looking very happy at the little child's sudden squealing.

The small boy's head snapped up in surprise, pulled out of his game of pretend at his mother's reprimand. The old worn metal soldiers fell into a disgraceful heap at his feet. He would have to make them do laps around his bed later as punishment for a sloppy formation in front of the army's leader.

"Momma, I was just showing them my Shout!" Elric whined.

Lydia sighed as she came over and picked up her child from his hiding place under the table. "I swear I wonder if it was a good idea giving you those old soldiers," she chided as she dusted her son's bottom. He had been scooting back and forth on the floor all morning making the little figures endure an endless march to Talos only knew where in his overactive imagination.

"They were Daddy's!" Elric protested as he waved the golden-haired, blue-button eyed cloth doll over his head in one grubby hand. The original general had been lost years ago when…well, it had been lost. Tilma had graciously made a replacement that could sleep with Elric at night instead of being placed carefully in the wooden box that housed the common foot soldiers.

"I know, dear," Lydia whispered as she kissed Elric's forehead before hugging him close. Her chest felt like it would burst from love for her precocious son. Barely two years old and he spoke clearly and played games that according to Tilma were more appropriate for a four year old. She had no idea how she was going to keep up with him as he got older.

"My lady, if the lordling is being too rambunctious, I could take him to his lunch and then a nap," Tilma offered from her usual corner of the war room. She sat up from her endless sewing, quickly putting the materials away in her basket.

"I am not ram butt is," Elric declared. He paused, unsure of the word. "Am I, Momma?"

"A little," Lydia laughed, hugging her son again. "But that's okay for someone your age." She placed Elric down so he was facing Tilma. "Go with your nanny now and listen to her."

"Will you read me a story later?" Elric asked, his big blue eyes reminding Lydia too much of Ulfric. He stuck his thumb in his mouth, leaving the general doll hanging precariously in a four fingered grip.

"If I have time," Lydia said, hoping she would. She didn't have nearly enough time with her little prince and he was growing so fast. It was still hard to imagine him out of swaddling.

"You'll tell me more about Yol-riik?" Elric asked, stumbling over his father's name. Lydia thought it was adorable, but if anyone corrected him Elric got pouty. When Lydia nodded, he continued. "You'll tell me when he was with the Gray-Manes?"

"Greybeards, darling," Lydia amended. "The Gray-Manes are someone completely different."

"Did Daddy have a gray beard?" Elric asked as he suspiciously eyed his plush doll. He wanted to make sure it was accurate as possible.

"No, dear," Lydia answered, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "He didn't get a chance to get old enough for that."

"Enough of that," Tilma said, as she took Elric's hand. "Your lady mother has enough to do with leading an army. I'll answer your questions about your papa as you eat your lunch. Then a bath."

"I don't wanna," Elric said in his high-pitched voice as Tilma lead him to the kitchens. "A good soldier should be covered in the dust of his travels."

"But not young lordlings from rolling on the ground," Tilma retorted, her voice fading as they left.

Lydia ached to follow the duo. She wanted to be there and wipe her son's chin as he ate messily. She wanted to wash his hair as he splashed in his bath. She wanted to tuck him in, tell him make believe stories and kiss him good night. She wanted….

"My regent," Yrsarald said, pulling Lydia back to stark reality, "we need to continue our planning."

"I'm sorry," Lydia said as she returned to her position next to the war table. At least she had Tilma here to help raise her son properly.

Tilma the Haggard had been a maid for the Companions for as long as Lydia could remember. She could still recall the woman walking down the steps from the renowned mead hall towards market when Lydia had been a little older than Elric. When Lydia had discovered that she was pregnant, she had approached Tilma and asked her to be Elric's governess.

"I need someone who will care for my son," Lydia had said. "I won't be able to raise him personally with the war going on."

"I don't get involved with politics," Tilma had interrupted.

"I'm not asking you to pledge your loyalty to the cause," Lydia had reassured her. "I just need someone to help my son grow into an honorable man."

"That I can do," Tilma had answered before taking Lydia's hand and squeezing it gently.

"Have we heard back from Sky Haven Temple?" Lydia asked as she looked at the troop movement schedule. They were stretched thin across Skyrim and it worried Lydia.

"No, still silence," Ralof reported.

Back in Midyear, after the report from Private Saeda about the Dark Brotherhood attack on Fort Hraggstad, Lydia had tried to contact the Blades about a possible alliance. Both sides would have benefited greatly by combining forces. The Blades had been the Emperor's personal guard and trained in dealing with assassins before being dismantled at the end of the Great War. Delphine would have had incredible insight on how to stop assassins as well as how to deal with the continuing dragon attacks throughout the country. In return, the Stormcloaks could have given her resources like new recruits and funding for Esbern's research on dragons.

The problem, as it was all too often, was Diana. Or Hecate. Or whatever in Oblivion she called herself nowadays. Delphine still held a grudge for the Dragonborn's rude dismissal of her command to kill Paarthurnax. Lydia had made the mistake of not telling Yrsarald to avoid announcing he was there on behalf of the Dragonborn when he met with Delphine.

When the Breton had heard the Dragonborn had requested her help, she had immediately turned the Stormcloak representative away without another word. "I won't talk to her until Paarthurnax is no longer a problem," Delphine had snapped before the heavy temple doors had slammed in Yrsarald's face.

It was risky to bring Delphine in as a confidante. The woman knew the truth about the Dragonborn, that the hero of legend was really Diana and not Lydia. But Lydia held out hope that Delphine's constant disappointment at the small Imperial's laidback attitude would encourage her to support Lydia's claim. There had always been the unspoken opinion that Delphine had wished Lydia had been the Dragonborn instead of Diana. Hopefully that would work in Lydia's favor now.

"I'm going to have to go myself," Lydia resigned. "It's the only way."

"Why do we need these people?" Ralof asked. "The Stormcloaks have found victory across the land without them."

"Because they're dragonslayers, or they were in the old days," Lydia answered. "The Blades are sworn to serve the Dragonborn. I met the Grandmaster several years ago when I first discovered what it meant to be Dragonborn. Delphine and Esbern were invaluable help to me during that time and I think they could provide us with better training on fighting dragons now as well as help to protect our people from the Brotherhood."

"If you're such good friends, then why is she refusing to answer your call now?" Yrsarald asked suspiciously.

"There was a misunderstanding with my companion," Lydia said, privately amazed at how easily the lies came now. "It caused an unfortunate estrangement that lead to Delphine withdrawing her support until it was resolved."

"Why did you allow your squire to speak in such a manner?" Yrsarald pushed. Damn, he was a sharp one.

"I thought she was right at the time," Lydia admitted. Delphine had wanted them to kill Paarthurnax, a reasonable request from one dragonslayer to another, but there was something gentle about the old creature. Now Lydia wasn't sure she could get past the Greybeards without them standing to defend their master. Between their mastery of Shouts and the potential for her charade to be exposed, it was too risky. "Now I realize I chose poorly and wish to make amends. The only way to do that is to personally apologize. I should have gone initially, but with it being summer I had too many responsibilities. Now with the firm grip of winter upon us, I can afford to break away from court for a couple of weeks to make the trek to the Reach and petition Delphine personally. That will be all for today, gentlemen."

Lydia stepped away from the war table. There would be many plans to make before she could leave, but the sooner the better. It was essential to resolve this issue with the Blades. Lydia shuddered to think of what diabolical plans Hecate might be hatching at this very minute.

* * *

**Fredas 30 Frostfall 205 4E 7:00 PM**

"May I present the Lady Dragonborn and her consort!"

Diana and Cicero looked resplendent in their identically colored outfits. Cut in the Imperial style, Diana's dress floated about her while Cicero's sharply cut tunic clung to his chest. Her black hair flowed down until it reached the small of her back, while his shoulder length red hair was pulled into a queue. They each wore a golden circlet set with a ruby. The gold trim and rich red material of their matching outfits shimmered like good Imperial wine, blood red in the right light, marking both their heritage and allegiance proudly. They made a handsome couple as they smiled and waved to the gathered court.

Elisif hated it.

"That expression does not become you, my jarl," Sybille warned. "Keep it up and you'll get wrinkles."

"How can you even tell?" Elisif asked, tugging on the elaborate half-mask she was wearing. It was shaped in the image of a wolf's face to represent her city's heraldry. Not the most flattering piece, but it sent a message of dedication to her people.

"I can tell," Sybille said with a narrow smile. She was wearing a terrifying draugr type mask. It also only covered the top half of her face, although the sides curved down similar to long vampiric fangs leaving an opening for Sybille's mouth if she desired to eat or drink. Not that Elisif had ever seen her court wizard do either.

Everyone was wearing masks for the ball celebrating the Emperor's birthday. Elisif thought it was a bit pointless given that Titus Mede II had been murdered almost three years ago and no new heir had taken his place, but Tullius had insisted. Right before he took off back to Cyrodiil for the winter to petition the Elder Council for more troops and funds, and to remind the court there that he was still alive and doing his job whether he wanted to or not.

General Tullius was a good and honorable man, though he hid it well, but it was widely known that he had no personal interest in Skyrim. He was here to do his duty to his country by securing a province that should have had its complete support behind its sovereign nation. Tullius wanted to win this war, earn his retirement, and go back home to the Imperial City. Elisif sympathized with the older man. The war should have been over already. The Stormcloak Rebellion should have fallen apart with both Ulfric Stormcloak and Galmar Stone-Fist dead.

But that upstart Lydia Stormblade had to take the leadership and keep that ragtag rabble together.

"You're making that expression again," Sybille warned.

"I'm not just a pretty face," Elisif snarled.

"No, but that's what people see," Sybille retorted. She bowed and left Elisif alone to stew over that comment.

Instead, Elisif chose to watch Diana and Cicero twirling together on the dance floor. Every time they came to a gathering in the Blue Palace, Cicero would insist that Diana dance with him first thing. He knew that the Dragonborn would be swarmed with petitioners and sycophants the moment they officially entered the presence of the court, so he would steal that one dance to last him the night.

They were the only people in the room not wearing some sort of mask, so it was impossible to not see the love and adoration they had for each other as they moved together on the dance floor. Everyone was watching them, envying them. It didn't matter if it was because they were powerful and rich, or that she had been born with the soul of a dragon, or he was graceful and charming. Everyone wanted to be them in one way or another.

Elisif wondered if she was the only one who envied Cicero's relationship with the Dragonborn.

When the song ended, Cicero smoothly knelt and kissed Diana's hand before lightly skipping away to find a new dance partner. He would go through them like an archer went through arrows, never dancing with the same person twice. Elisif was glad that Cicero seemed obsessed with dancing. It meant he wouldn't be lingering nearby when Diana presented herself to the court.

It wasn't that Cicero wasn't pleasant company; Elisif just couldn't take the secret smiles and touches he was allowed to share with Diana. It sharply reminded her of Torygg—and that he had been dead for over four years now.

"Good evening, my jarl," Diana said as she curtsied.

"Good evening, Diana, welcome to…" Elisif started.

"It is always such a pleasure to have you here in the Blue Palace!" Erikur interrupted. He stepped forward to take the Dragonborn's hand and kiss it much like Cicero had done. "Didn't anyone tell you that you were supposed to come in costume for the event?"

"I was aware," Diana said coolly as she took her hand back.

"Then what are you supposed to be?" Erikur asked.

"The heroic Dragonborn, of course," Diana shot back, one eyebrow raised sarcastically. The court laughed at her joke.

"How was your…" Elisif tried again, but once again she was interrupted, this time by Bryling.

"I simply love your outfit," she gushed. "Wherever did you get it?"

"Where I always get my wardrobe, the Radiant Raiment," Diana chuckled.

"I don't know how you can stand those two," Erikur sniffed. "They are so rude."

"Only Endarie, really," Diana said defensively. "Taarie is actually really good with people. She just lets her passion for fashion overwhelm her sense for discretion sometimes."

"How does Jordis like her new arrangements?" Falk Firebeard asked suddenly.

"Very much, thank you."

And that's how it continued for the rest of the night. Any time Diana was actually near Elisif and not pulled away to talk to some thane or deposed jarl, Elisif was overridden by someone. It was so frustrating! She had been looking forward to seeing Diana at this gala for months, ever since Falk had pulled her aside for the private meeting with Jarl Balgruuf regarding retaking Whiterun.

Whiterun was an essential hold for the war. It held a central position on the map, many trade routes, and a decent amount of wealth. Unfortunately, it would have to wait until Markarth was taken back. The silver mines provided too much coin for the previously poorly-funded Stormcloaks. Tullius dreaded the siege that would occur outside the stone city. Markarth was well-defended as well as rich. It would be a hard and bitter battle.

Unless Elisif called upon her special friends for help.

The problem was that Elisif wasn't certain she wanted to be more in debt to the Sithis-worshipping cult. Was she damning her soul every time she called upon them? Did it matter after that first time when she had sent them after that conniving, backstabbing traitorous Ulfric? She didn't know, but it had felt righteous to call the Brotherhood upon the man. How did he like it when someone snuck into his home and killed him before his court?

It had felt less righteous when she had summoned them to take back Fort Hraggstad. She hadn't even known the captain they had slain for their dark god. But the Imperials had lost too much territory. If they hadn't taken the fort when they did, they would have lost the war. Elisif had given the Imperial Army every chance, but when it had been obvious some extra help had been needed, she had summoned the Brotherhood.

If only if they hadn't left such a bloody and terrifying message.

Elisif had voted against the ball being a masquerade initially because of the masks worn by Tragedy and Comedy, as the two assassins called themselves. The ebony sheen and red lacquer of those leering visages left her with nightmares every time she met them. But Erikur insisted that it was popular down in Cyrodiil and what was popular in Cyrodiil should be popular in Skyrim. "It promotes solidarity, you know," he had said.

Privately Elisif thought Erikur meant that it promoted profit for him since his motto "The Imperials are good for business, and business is good for Skyrim" had fallen on enough ears that it had circulated back to her. She thought it was a pity that one of her thanes seemed to only care about profit, but Falk had told her that estranging Erikur would cause more problems than it would solve. For better or for worse, he had much of the businesses of Solitude either indebted to him or owned outright. Losing the support of the local market would be even more of a strain on the city's already depleted coffers.

"May I have this dance?"

Elisif was pulled out of her train of thought to find Cicero standing in front of her, his hand extended for the requested dance.

"Oh, no, thank you," Elisif began.

"Of course, she would love to," Falk interjected. He leaned close to the jarl as if to help her from her position on the throne so he could whisper, "It would not do to slight the Dragonborn's husband. Besides, you've done nothing except sit on the throne all night. One dance would be good for you."

Before Elisif could respond, she was in Cicero's arms and whisked onto the dance floor. She had been worried that he would try to spin her into some intricate dance step, but thankfully it was a simple waltz. It had been years, since Torygg, that she had danced. Trying to save a failing kingdom had left little time for such things.

"You've been trained in dancing," Cicero stated with a pleased voice, his intense amber stare boring past the safety of Elisif's wolf mask.

"Of course," Elisif said, glancing away. It had always been hard for her to match someone's gaze. It felt too aggressive, too challenging. "It is standard for a nobleman's daughter and the future queen of Skyrim."

"It is also common for a nobleman's daughter to learn how to meet her opponent's eyes," Cicero chided as he gently tilted Elisif's chin so she was looking at him again. "If you always look away, they will know they have already won."

Elisif felt uncomfortable with how close Cicero was holding her. His hand on her back felt too possessive, too familiar. And that stupid, private, smug grin that was always on his lips simply infuriated her. Before she could stop herself, Elisif retorted, "And who are you to reprimand me on proper courtly etiquette?"

"A simple fool," Cicero chuckled. The word sent a chill down Elisif's back. Tragedy and Comedy liked to call themselves the Fool of Fate and Fool of Hearts respectively. "I am always giving unsolicited advice to my betters." He was still smiling, but there was a hardness there now that scared Elisif.

They danced for a few moments in silence. Elisif forced herself to not look away from Cicero as they danced, trusting their movements completely to his lead as they twirled on the dance floor. It was so hard for her to keep eye contact for so long. She had always been the shy one, while Torygg had been the naturally charming and charismatic king.

"I know you've been trying to get Diana's attention all night," Cicero said suddenly. "It's a shame the lords and ladies of this court would disrespect their queen so by their constant interruptions."

"I'm not queen yet," Elisif blushed.

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't act like one if you wish to truly earn the title instead of merely wearing it for others," Cicero said. "You're lucky that the Stormcloaks rely on force as their political method. If Lydia wasn't a housecarl out of her league, she could call for a treaty of peace, summon the Moot and win with all of her jarls backing her. When," Elisif could hear the certainty of that word. When, not if, "when the Imperial Army wins this little war, the moot will be called and you hope to be named queen because of tradition. Tradition was Ulfric's standard. Maybe you should consider a different ideology if you wish for your land to be considered for anything more than its ice and snow and history of strong warriors by the rest of Tamriel."

"You speak too freely," Elisif said, overwhelmed by Cicero's straightforwardness and how right he sounded. Gods, it would be nice to have someone in her court that supported her opinion, and not just her beauty and her claim based on her marriage to Torygg.

"Someone needs to," Cicero said. "The High King's court needs a jester." His expression was unfocused, making Elisif even more uncomfortable. "There should always be someone to tell the king that he is a fool. Otherwise, how will a ruler know the truth of the people's hearts?" Cicero's attention snapped back to his dancing partner. "Pity about your headache."

"What? I don't…" Elisif felt very confused now.

As the song ended, Cicero whirled them off the dance floor. Instead of going back towards the throne, he guided her to where Diana was talking to Jarl Balgruuf and his entourage. "My darling, dear, delectable Diana," Cicero cooed, "could you help our Lady Elisif? She's developed the most horrid headache and it would be improper for me to escort her to her rooms for a chance to recover in silence."

"You, improper?" Diana quipped, one eyebrow raised. "I never imagined I would hear you say such a thing."

"You know me," Cicero giggled. "I am always one for propriety."

"Hmph," Diana snorted, not believing the redhead in the slightest. She turned to Balgruuf. "Forgive me, my jarl, but Jarl Elisif is in need of me."

"But of course," Balgruuf nodded.

Elisif couldn't believe how easily Cicero had managed that little turn of events. Of course, he had the luxury of being the Dragonborn's consort and could act with any level of familiarity with her. But the simplicity of stating what you wanted without worrying about what others thought and the same ease at how they had accepted it stunned her.

As Diana took her hand, Elisif turned to Cicero and managed to mouth "Thank you" before being whisked away by the Dragonborn.

Cicero's only response was to demurely look away, a gesture that almost made Elisif laugh.

Elisif felt her heart in her throat as Diana escorted her away from the ball and towards her room. The loud chatter of conversation and music quickly faded away as they walked down the corridor. Elisif stole glances at Diana's profile as they walked. It always surprised her how much shorter the Imperial woman was. Diana seemed to fill a room with her presence making her mentally a giant to most people. But in person, she was usually a full hand shorter than the smallest Nord.

Elisif envied that confidence.

"How have you been since we last spoke, my jarl?" Diana asked as she pulled open Elisif's bedroom door and waved for the Nord to enter.

"I've been fine, I suppose, given the recent events with the war," Elisif said. She paused, expecting Diana to launch into a story about her own adventures, but instead the Imperial waited for her to continue. It was one of the many things about the Dragonborn that Elisif liked. Most people simply waited for their turn to speak, but Diana actually listened! "General Tullius went back to Cyrodiil for the winter, so I've mostly been following Falk's advice on how to deal with all of our displaced jarls during the cold months. I suppose this ball was a good idea, but it feels a bit frivolous to me. How can we justify hiring entertainers and a banquet of food when people are starving?"

"These are hard time," Diana agreed, squeezing Elisif's hand, "but you can't forget the joys of living in the midst of all the death. Maybe you could arrange something special for the common folk when New Life Day arrives?"

Elisif swallowed, the sudden lump in her throat felt hard and unrelenting. They had planned something for the common folk already. It wasn't anything as pleasant as free food in addition to the free ale that would be flowing that day, but it was supposed to boost morale. It just didn't boost her own.

Unless her desperate idea worked.

"Actually," Elisif murmured, "Falk, Tullius and Balgruuf have something planned. I would like to modify it with your support."

"What is it, my jarl?" Diana asked.

By the Eight! Elisif had practiced this so many times and now Diana was here she found that she couldn't speak. Should she be subtle? Straight forward? How to do this without offending anyone? What could Cicero do?

Gathering her courage, Elisif stepped closer to Diana so she could wrap her arm about the Imperial's waist. Keeping eye contact, the jarl leaned forward and kissed Diana fully on the lips. She thought about trying to press her tongue against the other woman's, but her shyness pulled her back at the last minute. As they parted, Elisif declared, "Diana Dragonborn, will you marry me?"

* * *

**Fredas 30 Frostfall 205 4E 11:00 PM**

It was cold in Sky Haven Temple, but that was nothing new. The ancient Akaviri ruins were designed to have big open rooms intended for many Blades to gather, eat, sleep, train, or even make love if enough privacy could be stolen for a few minutes. There should have been dozens of Blades calling this place home when not out on assignment.

Instead there were only a measly dozen including Esbern and herself. The only reason there were that many was because Esbern wouldn't stop harassing her about keeping tradition and the faith. "The Dragonborn will always need the Blades," he insisted. "We can't provide the right protection with just the two of us."

Not that it mattered. Not ever since Diana had metaphorically spat in Delphine face years ago over the argument about Paarthurnax. Delphine had made the mistake of first taunting the Dragonborn about knowing Paarthurnax's true identity before making her second mistake of commanding the Imperial to kill the dragon.

It shouldn't have been a problem. They were DRAGONSLAYERS for Talos' sake. It's what they did. It wasn't like she had asked the woman to kill the Emperor or anything ridiculous given their line of work.

But Diana had refused and Delphine had been forced to withdraw the Blades' support. What else could she have done? The Dragonborn had questioned and mocked her at every turn. To allow her to simply refuse an order whenever she felt like it would have been the worst type of insubordination.

The Blades might have been officially reduced to two members – the Grandmaster masquerading as an innkeeper and the Head Librarian taken prisoner by the Thalmor – but they were still a prestigious organization whose goals were to kill dragons and protect the Dragonborn.

Even with Diana gone, the Blades had managed to expand some. Delphine had already recruited several potentials before the estrangement. Afterwards, she had lost most of her drive. What was the point?

No Dragonborn, no Blades, right?

Delphine lifted her glass and found that it was empty again. Her fuzzy memory vaguely recalled draining the goblet, or was that the round before?

Today was a terrible day for Delphine. It was on this day back in 171 the Thalmor had made their ultimatum that the Empire should surrender to them. When Titus Mede II had refused, they had emptied their carts revealing over a hundred decapitated heads - every Blades spy assigned to the Summerset Isles and Valenwood.

It had marked the beginning of the end – for the Blades, free worship of Talos, and gods help them maybe the Empire itself. After signing the White-Gold Concordat, no one had respected Titus for his surrender. Many of his advisors had warned him to accept the Thalmor's initial demands because of their weakened militia.

So every year Delphine drank to remember her fallen companions as well as to forget. To forget what a colossal failure she was. She had finally found the last Dragonborn and lost her. She had found her worth and her order's purpose again and tossed it away because of pride.

Things could have been patched earlier this year when a messenger from the Dragonborn showed up on Sky Haven Temple's doorstep saying that the Dragonborn had summoned Delphine because she needed her help. But there had been no sign of apology or Paarthurnax's head and Delphine's pride wouldn't allow her to meekly tuck her katana between her legs and go slinking back to the arrogant Diana.

She'd rather die first.

The door to her room opened, allowing light to flood in. "Still drinking in the dark?" Esbern asked as he entered with a book tucked under his arm.

"It's the best way to get drunk," Delphine slurred. "If I'm going to stumble to my bed anyway I might as well have the dark as an excuse."

"Well, pour me a drink too," Esbern asked as he sat next to her. After Delphine had done so, he raised the glass. "To friends lost."

"To friends lost," Delphine echoed the sentiment too close to what had been on her mind. "What brings you here, my friend?"

"You didn't think I don't know what day it is, did you?" Esbern asked. He reached out and patted Delphine's hand. "I'd never let you go through this day alone as long as I'm around."

"Thank you, Esbern," Delphine chuckled as she squeezed his hand in return.

"Also, I have some good news for you if you're not too drunk," the old man said, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"Oh?" Delphine asked, sitting up. "What?"

"Do you remember how the Dragonborn sent a messenger earlier this year?"

"By Talos, I was just thinking about that," Delphine admitted. When had Esbern become a psychic?

"I did some follow up work on that," Esbern said. He placed the book he was carrying on the table, opened it and withdrew some papers he had tucked in there. "I had thought it odd for Diana to ask help from us. Especially through a messenger. She should have come personally after the…ahem, fight the two of you had."

Delphine accepted the papers and scanned them quickly. Each one described the Dragonborn – female, brunette, pale skinned…Nord? That wasn't right. Delphine shuffled the papers and read them again. Time and time again the Dragonborn was described as a Nord.

"Someone is impersonating the Dragonborn?" Delphine asked, stunned.

"Not just someone," Esbern said, tapping his nose. "Lydia. Or Lydia Stormblade as she goes by now."

"By the Nine!" Delphine whispered. "What happened to Diana?"

"My network says that she's been presenting herself at the Imperial Court, but other than that she's been disappearing into the wilderness. Not sure if she's been doing any dragon hunting since Alduin fell, but apparently she didn't like someone using her name for a cause she didn't support."

"But why would Lydia lie about being the Dragonborn?" Delphine asked. "Those two were as thick as thieves."

"No good way for me to know," Esbern admitted. "My network isn't as good as it was at the height of my day. But they are estranged." He laughed. "But it gets better. Lydia really can Shout. Ulfric must have taught her the old way of the Voice Masters before he died because there are consistent accounts of her using the thu'um on the battlefield."

"How does that help us?" Delphine asked, feeling hopeful even if she didn't know why.

"Because she was there when Diana learned Dragonrend," Esbern explained, "and I don't see any reason why she wouldn't want to share that information. Especially if she wants an alliance with us. We can be the dragonslayers we were meant to be."

Delphine's laughter filled the room as she raised her wine glass again. "To friends lost and friends found!" she toasted. Things were looking up again.

* * *

**Fredas 30 Frostfall 205 4E 11:30 PM**

"Diana Dragonborn, will you marry me?"

Diana's eyes widened in shock at Elisif's proposal. "My jarl, I –"

"Please don't lie to me," Elisif interrupted. "I know you're not married to Cicero."

"Why would you say that?" Diana stammered.

"Because you're not wearing a Band of Matrimony," Elisif said, pointing at the offending finger. "You weren't even wearing a ring at all on the day I found you at the Raiment. Since then you seemed to have picked up that one, but it's not a proper ring denoting marriage."

"Well, I, that is," Diana stuttered as she twisted her silver ring nervously. She bit her lip as she stumbled for words. "We had an Imperial style wedding."

"Why do I doubt that?" Elisif snorted. "You always blush and pause whenever you have to call Cicero your husband. Cicero wears no ring at all." She held up one hand to ward off any more protests. "I don't know why the two of you are lying, and I don't really care. But I want to marry you and I had to prove I know that you're available for marriage."

"Jarl Elisif, I'm still shocked," Diana admitted. Her blush was so red that she looked like she was about to pass out. "You could have anyone you want, why me?"

"Because you're the Dragonborn!" Elisif blurted. She immediately regretted her words when she saw how much Diana's face closed at that statement. "Well, it's not the reason I want to marry you. I like you a lot! You're always so kind to me. You listen to me. You respect me, or I at least think so. You never treat me as just a pretty face. But the reason why I can ask you at all is because you're the Dragonborn." Elisif closed her eyes and took a big breath. "Because if you refuse, I will have to marry Frothar."

"Balgruuf's son?"

"Yes," Elisif nodded. Gods, the boy was almost ten years younger than she. He was barely seventeen and would become eighteen this coming year. "It is to cement an alliance with Whiterun and show our good faith about returning Balgruuf's throne. The official announcement will be at this year's New Life festival."

"I take it that you don't want to marry him," Diana said sympathetically. "Why not just say no?"

"Because politically it makes a lot of sense!" Elisif said desperately. "I have to do what is right for my country. I am a widow, but I'm still young and beautiful and desirable. My hand can be easily resold and my advisors think that Whiterun can bring the most profit."

"But you're the jarl," Diana insisted. "You have the final say. Isn't there an alternative plan?"

"You're my alternative!" Elisif pointed out. "You carry a great deal of power with your name. You're the Dragonborn. You destroyed the World-Eater. Everyone respects you. If you were to reveal yourself openly to everyone, then this war will end that much faster when the Stormcloaks see your true power. Lineage isn't even important since we vote on the new High King or Queen, so marrying a woman wouldn't be problematic."

Diana shook her head, breaking Elisif's heart. "I can't. I'm sorry. I have no desire for power and that is what you're offering me. And," she paused, an odd expression on her face, "I love Cicero. He's the one I want to be with, not just someone I have to be with."

"I love Skyrim," Elisif insisted weakly. "I have to do what is right by my councilor's recommendations since they are more experienced."

"Regardless of your own feelings?" Diana asked.

"Yes, especially," Elisif swallowed. "If Ulfric hadn't died, I would have been expected to marry him as a sign of aligning the old throne with the new. I would have rather died than allow that happen."

"Then why agree to this engagement if you don't want to?"

"Because it's different. Because Frothar didn't kill my husband in my own home before my very eyes." Elisif felt like she wanted to throw up thinking about how Ulfric had arrogantly strode into their home, accepted Torygg's welcome of friendship and then stabbed him before the whole court while ranting about the righteousness of his cause.

"Jarl Elisif," Diana said gently as she licked her lips nervously, "I won't lie. I find you very attractive. But despite any legality, I am with Cicero. I want to be with Cicero." She sighed. "Maybe we should have been legally married. I don't know. I know I want to spend the rest of my life with him, but I can't really wrap my head around the whole ceremony thing."

She stroked Elisif's cheek tenderly. "For what it is worth, even if Cicero wasn't a factor, even if my other obligations weren't a factor, I would never marry you. I'm not the marrying type. But I will gladly stand by your side as your friend." She chuckled sadly. "Could you honestly say that you're in love with me like you were with Torygg?"

Elisif wiped away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. "No, I don't think I could. I love you as a friend and a very dear one, but no, I am not in love with you like I was with Torygg."

Diana wrapped Elisif into a hug, pulling her close so she could stroke the Nord's hair. "You're young and confused, but you're also strong. I've believed that since the first day I saw you on your throne sitting so properly. You'll have to find your own path. You'll have to learn how to rule on your own instead of relying on your advisors so much. Maybe you should start by telling them to take this engagement and shove it up their collective asses."

The Dragonborn laughed as Elisif gasped in shock. "That's so rude!" Elisif protested.

"Maybe, but it's what they deserve," Diana winked. "You're the ruler. It's time you started acting like it."

"That's pretty much what Cicero told me," Elisif giggled. "When I called him out on it, he said he was a simple fool."

"Did he now?" Diana said, her voice oddly cool. "I will be sure to speak to him about talking out of turn."

"No, please don't," Elisif said. "I don't want him to get in trouble. It was a bit refreshing to have someone speak plainly to me and to encourage me to be more in charge instead of just pushing me aside. Besides, he sort of inspired me to talk to you about this." She blushed. "Even if it didn't turn out the way I wanted."

"It is a shame," Diana teased as she ran one finger down Elisif's chin. "I would have given you a night you never would have forgotten." Her lustful tone made Elisif forget how to breathe. "Oh well, maybe in another life, right?"

"Maybe," Elisif whispered.

"I should go," Diana said standing, "before I lose my resolve. You get your rest, but I think I should head home now."

"You're not mad at me, are you?" Elisif asked timidly.

"No," Diana chuckled. "Confused, flattered, and a bit stunned, but never mad." She bowed as she backed to the door. "Good night, my queen."

When the door closed, Diana leaned against it, trying to remember how to breathe. Gods, that had been hard to walk away from. Before Cicero, Diana would have been diving between those creamy perfect legs faster than you could Shout Fus Ro Dah.

"Ugh, get your mind out of the gutter," she mumbled to herself.

"Is the Listener talking to herself now?" Cicero teased, popping out of the shadows. "Tsk, tsk, tsk. A terrible habit."

"You're one to talk," she snapped.

"The best teacher is the one who learned from a burned hand," Cicero laughed. "What did the fair Elisif want?"

"To marry me."

"Ooooh, that explains why you're as red as a snowberry," Cicero snickered. "What did you tell her?"

"No, obviously," Hecate said as she took Cicero's hand with her left one, the one wearing the silver and amethyst ring. "I'm already taken."

"Yes, you belong to Sithis," Cicero agreed.

"Him too," Hecate agreed. "Let's get out of here. I'm oddly worked up."

"As you wish, my Listener," Cicero bowed. As the two assassins hurried out of the Blue Palace, he turned to Hecate. "Seriously though, what did Elisif want from you?"

* * *

**A/N: I have been really excited about writing this chapter. I was stuck for the longest time on it because I didn't know if Elric was old enough for the type of mentality I wanted from him. Researching two-year-olds on Youtube did not give me confidence. But I figured that he's a precocious child so that works out. A lot of long term plot elements are finally starting to show up and come together.**

**I've been really excited about Delphine's bit too. The whole reason I had the back and forth between her and Diana in Diana Dragonborn was to help lead up to this return. Which was why I always thought it was ironic when a reader accused me of just using Diana as my mouthpiece. In most instances, this is true. I do use Diana as my in-world voice, but in the case of Delphine that's not true. I generally have neutral feelings about her because I don't really get the main quest line. **

**Special thanks to Agrestic, MightMerlin, EllaBea, MasterAssassin2012, greenycheeks, and Zute for leaving comments. I love comments! They make me happy and give me feedback on what works and what doesn't.**


	10. A Show of Good Faith

**Fredas 20****th**** Sun's Dusk 205 4E 3:00 PM**

It was cold enough to freeze the breath still in one's lungs. But Lydia Stormblade was a true daughter of Skyrim and she wasn't going to let something as insignificant as a blizzard in the high mountains of the Reach keep her from her goal.

It had taken her a whole week to get things in order in Windhelm before she could hit the roads. Yrsarald had been very displeased when she had refused any escort for her journey. Lydia couldn't risk Delphine revealing that she was not the real Dragonborn and losing any support of her personal advisors. It was one thing to have your enemies declare you were a fake, but it was quite another when a supposed potential ally declared the same thing. She had simply explained that she didn't want to make the Blades feel defensive with a warrior contingent on their doorstep and it was only appropriate that she present herself personally to their leader.

She hated to admit it, but part of her had missed traveling across the holds of Skyrim. She missed the clear open blue skies when it wasn't snowing or even the dour gray when it was. She missed the endless tundra and the looming mountains. She missed the rushing rivers and the brisk cool air as she rode her gelding down the road. Nights spent huddling over a hot fire as her dinner of fresh rabbit stew cooked. Part of her had even missed being ambushed by bandits and fighting them off, especially now that she controlled the power of the thu'um.

For too long she had been sequestered in the Palace of the Kings, planning day in and day out their strategic maneuvers for the war. Now that she was the leader of the Stormcloaks, she rarely had time or resources to go out even to review troops. She was too new and inexperienced for this responsibility. Ulfric had been born and raised for the throne. She was just a pretender really. So it felt amazing to be her true self alone under the autumn sky when she thought she would never have that luxury ever again.

The only downsides were the bitter memories of traveling with Diana. She kept expecting to look over the fire and see her thane laughing as she awkwardly tried to peel a potato, or to look behind while riding and see the Imperial vaulting off her mount to go run and pick some flowers. Lydia had never imagined that she would miss her thane so much after all this time.

She had thought she had found closure by joining Ulfric's side, and she finally had the goal of hunting down the Dark Brotherhood in revenge for her thane's death. She had always known it was a false hope. Despite their weakened status as little more than stories to scare children, the Brotherhood had been around for a long time and little more shadows in the night. They were like skeevers: you could never truly wipe them out no matter how hard you try. You could destroy their cells and they would hide for a time, but sooner or later they always returned. Still, it had been something other than the terrible sense of loss and lack of direction in the depression she had suffered when Diana disappeared.

So when the Imperial had returned as Hecate the Listener instead of Diana the Dragonborn, it was as if Lydia's world had flipped upside down. Three years –three years!–Lydia had thought her dead when in truth she had been the leader of the very death cult Lydia thought had cut her down. What was so fundamentally wrong with the world that this could even remotely be true? Diana should have been the one by Ulfric's side winning the war instead of making it worse by killing the Emperor and later cutting down Ulfric Stormcloak in his home at the Palace of the Kings.

However, the thing that truly made traveling on the road the hardest was Elric. Lydia missed her child. Often she would only get to see him at the end of the day, already tucked into bed, asleep and limbs all akimbo. She would give him a quick kiss to the forehead as she rearranged his blankets before she crawled into bed herself. But he had been nearby where she had the option to look in on him playing, napping, or discovering the world for the first time.

There had been a period when she had been away on the battlefield leading the Stormcloaks to victory. But Ulfric had been alive, staying at the palace as a public figurehead, being jarl. Elric had a father to watch over him and keep him safe from the world. Ulfric had adored the child and spent most of his days with him. He even held court with the babe in his lap, uncaring about any opinions of the matter.

Elric had just said his first word mere days before Ulfric's death. He had been so proud of his son that he had sent a courier to Lydia with a letter telling her, tacked on at the end of a report of Windhelm's status. "The boy has learned his first word and unsurprisingly it is his father's name. He stumbled a bit, but it was clear enough! All that time in court has taught him well." It had been his last letter to her. Hers to him had been "Diana lives." She wished she had done something more personal, but she hadn't known they would be her last words to her jarl. She hadn't known Diana was a traitor and by the time she did, she was tied up and given to a dragon to deliver to High Hrothgar.

The next day, she had been holding Elric when he looked up at her and asked, "Yol-riik?" He wanted to know where his daddy was and she had no words for him. Especially since the two syllables sounded very much like the draconic words for "fire" and "gale." Ulfric must have been bursting with pride for his son to name him so.

Even thinking about it now, eight months later, forced Lydia to pull over on the side of the road and cry for a good ten minutes before she could continue her trek westward. It wasn't fair for a little boy to grow up without a father, a truth too many children were learning in Skyrim.

Normally the trip from Windhelm to Markarth took about a week, assuming good weather and if the rider was pushing herself, but Lydia was willing to take her time. She had no desire to get to Delphine looking like death warmed over and on the point of exhaustion. It was better to travel safely, contemplate her story, and do her best to win back the Blade's trust after Diana had thoroughly stomped on it during their last meeting.

Now she was finally at the base of Karthspire near a Forsworn camp. It looked long deserted, but Lydia avoided it to be safe. The Forsworn were friendly to no one outside of their cause and would attack anyone on sight. Lydia wasn't afraid. Why should she be? She was the Stormblade and a Voice Master. The Forsworn had no power over her. But Shouting would draw the Blades' attention before she could properly present herself.

Thankfully there were no enemies waiting in ambush and Lydia was able to make it to the entrance of Sky Haven Temple unmolested. The first two obstacles were easily passed now that she knew the trick. The first puzzle involved rotating three pedestals to have the old Akaviri symbol for Dragonborn showing so a drop bridge would fall to give access. The second involved stepping on pressure plates with the same symbol. It was painfully simple if you knew what to look for.

Lydia felt her heart clench at the thought. Diana and she had had a similar complaint about the puzzles in the many ruins they had explored in their months together. They were aggravatingly hard when you had no clue what you were doing, but once you figured the answer out it was something a child could do—or downright impossible if you didn't have the right claw key for the door. She had asked Wuunferth about it once and he told her it was because most traps weren't intended to keep living people out so much as the restless undead in. It really gave the whole puzzle idea a different spin when you realized the reason for it.

Lydia passed through a large open room with a huge stone face dominating the far wall. It was closed, staring at her passively, almost in challenge. This puzzle involved the Dragonborn releasing a few drops of blood on a pressure plate that would active the mechanism that would raise the stone face, revealing a stone staircase. She was stuck. No matter how much others believed it, no matter how much she tried to forget that it was all a farce, no matter how much she tried, Lydia was not a true Dragonborn.

However, she was a true Nord and she wasn't going to let something like this stop her. But how to proceed? Call out and hope someone responded? It felt too much like begging and she was still proud. Wait and hope someone emerged soon? Too chancy. This far up in the mountains during the winter, Lydia could too easily freeze to death. Nords might be resistant to the cold, but they were not immune. There was no guarantee that anyone would come out for supplies either. Last she had heard, Delphine had managed to gather some recruits, but had they stayed on after Diana's refusal? Would they keep their vows when the Dragonborn couldn't be bothered to?

Thankfully the decision was taken out of her hands when a familiar voice called out from above. "I see that you're stuck." Lydia looked up to see Delphine standing above the stone face. The older woman looked resplendent in her Blades armor. Lydia grimaced at the smirk on the Breton's face. Delphine was a proud woman despite being forced to hide as a simple innkeeper in Riverwood for almost thirty years after the disbanding of the Blades. Her ego had been badly bruised during her last conversation with Diana. Lydia hoped that she wouldn't be seeking too much payback.

To Lydia's surprise, the stone face lifted, sliding into the mountain wall to reveal the stairs that would lead to Alduin's Wall. "Come on in," Delphine said, gesturing as she retreated back inside. "It's much too cold out here for me to have any sort of decent conversation."

For a moment, the former housecarl stood in shock, her mouth hanging open. She had been prepared for no one to greet her, for Delphine to try to mock and taunt her, for there to be some prerequisite of humility before being given entrance to the Blades' safe house, but the thought of simply being invited in had never occurred to her. She quickly composed herself before ascending the stairs, not sure if she should be grateful or suspicious of the change of attitude.

Alduin's Wall, a bas-relief that dominated the far wall, still looked the same. Even years later, Lydia's memory of it had not faded in the slightest. It was an ancient relic that depicted Alduin's defeat from the Merethic Era and had given them the clue on how to find Dragonrend.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Esbern asked as he emerged from a side room, perpetual book tucked under one arm. His smile immediately made Lydia feel comfortable as if she belonged. "I never get tired of looking at it, looking for some secret we may have missed before."

"It's true," Delphine piped up as she came in, brushing melting snow from her shoulders. "Sometimes I have to come out here and drape a blanket over his sleeping form." She extended a hand of greeting in the Cyrodilic style to Lydia, who took it awkwardly.

Nords didn't shake hands, but embraced as if close family. Lydia felt it was one of those crucial cultural differences that helped mark part of the basic problem of the Civil War. Imperials wanted to keep everything at arm's length and painfully formal while Nords understood the necessity of closeness and camaraderie.

"So, I take it that you know that I'm the Dragonborn?" Lydia asked. "It's the only thing I can think of for the warm reception. If you don't mind me saying."

Delphine laughed sheepishly. "Yes, but I only recently found out thanks to Esbern. Believe me; your messenger would have had a much different reception if we had known." She motioned for the three of them to retire to the long table that the Blades used for meals. As they sat, she eyed Lydia's steel armor. "I must admit that I'm surprised that you're wearing your old armor and not the legendary Dragon scale set that Diana made. It was her signature in many ways."

"I lost it," Lydia admitted. It still stung her pride that she no longer had that unique mail. "Which is actually the reason why I'm here. The Brotherhood stole it from me so they could impersonate me to get close to Ulfric."

Delphine and Esbern shared a look. "We had heard the rumors," the old man admitted, "but we weren't certain about the truth of it. The thought that anyone in the Legion invested enough to want Ulfric dead enough to use the Brotherhood after they killed the Emperor seemed ridiculous."

"Whoever it is has been smart enough to not brag about it," Lydia said with gritted teeth. "This last summer, they summoned the Dark Brotherhood to wipe out an entire fort as a lesson. To summon an assassin against our leader was bad enough, but to have them sneak into our camps in the dead of night and slaughter every man makes me ill. Every action from the Imperial army just proves time and time again what dishonorable dogs they really are. Nothing is too low for them if it will allow them victory."

"Harsh words from a woman who is using a title and reputation that is not hers," Esbern said mildly. He flinched when Delphine stepped on his foot. "Not that we're judging you."

"Diana was dead and we needed a symbol. Everything I did before Ulfric's death was in her memory," Lydia said stiffly. It was true enough. She had honored Diana until she had returned from the dead as something else. "I have earned the title of Dragonborn as a hero of Skyrim just as I have earned the other titles Ulfric bestowed upon me."

"I don't understand why you've approached us," Delphine said, trying to pull the topic away from Diana before bitter memories could surface. "The Blades are a Cyrodilic faction. We were the protectors of the Emperor before being disbanded. Even with Titus Mede dead, our loyalty would lie with his successor. Why should we throw our lot in with the Stormcloaks?"

"Because the Empire abandoned you!" Lydia said. "They threw you aside for their Thalmor allies. You wouldn't be fighting your old masters so much as the new tyrants who have climbed into their bed. Additionally, you'll be able to go back to your true roots as dragon slayers. Skyrim is still plagued by the beasts. They are fewer now that Alduin has died, but I still receive reports periodically of small villages being razed to the ground. There is enough loss of life without these creatures creating more."

"We can't hope to fight dragons without a Dragonborn leading us," Delphine sighed, looking regretful. "We are trained to back up one who can truly kill a dragon by absorbing its soul. You would need to lead any squads sent to kill dragons. Even as a fake, you still are a Voice Master. It would be enough to turn the tide."

"I… I can't leave the Stormcloaks leaderless," Lydia said desperately. She had never considered that Delphine wouldn't jump at the chance to bring the Blades back to glory. "I must stay in Windhelm organizing my troops until the time I can lead us to victory."

"You would send us out to die for your cause," Delphine said flatly.

"No, no! That's not it. I want to use you as you were meant to be used. We all have roles we must play. You're meant to be dragonslayers instead of rudderless wasting away in this temple," Lydia said.

"Without some sort of edge, I would be sending men and women into their deaths," Delphine replied. "I can't do that in good conscience."

Lydia sat back, her lips thin in frustration. "So that's your asking price. You want Dragonrend."

"I've always liked you, Lydia," Delphine grinned slyly. Lydia didn't like that expression. "You're a sharp girl and willing to play politics when needed unlike your predecessor."

"I am nothing like Diana!" Lydia said too sharply.

"There's no doubt of that," Delphine said smoothly. She patted Lydia's hand sympathetically. "How did your mistress die?"

"The Dark Brotherhood," Lydia growled. "They took her from me – from Skyrim."

"We could help you with that particular problem," Delphine said. "In exchange for making us the dragon killers we need to be to defend Tamriel, I'll personally train my initiates to help protect you and yours from these daggers in the night."

"Good," Lydia nodded, "that's what I had hoped you'd say. I have a few conditions though. First, I'll only train Nords how to use the thu'um."

"Why?" Delphine asked. She had hoped to learn that amazing power for herself. Not only was it appropriate as her role of Grandmaster, it would allow her to be able to train her people without Lydia's assistance if the day came they needed to part ways.

"Because only Nords and Dragonborn have the inherent ability to learn Shouts," Lydia explained. "It's not personal, just pragmatic. I can't teach a non-Nord how to Shout any more than I can teach a fish how to ride a horse."

Delphine huffed, but nodded in agreement.

"Second, anyone I train in the thu'um will come from the Stormcloak army."

"Trying to keep them loyal to you first?" Delphine asked. She wasn't particularly happy with that arrangement, but it would mean she wouldn't have to spend time finding people willing to join her ranks.

"Finally, if you find their leader, a woman who wears a Tragedy mask, I want her brought to me alive. She and I have unfinished business," Lydia said.

"Wanting revenge for your lover's death?" Delphine asked. Lydia was surprised to hear the sympathy in the Breton's voice. "I can only promise that those will be standing orders, but my people are trained to kill not take prisoner. I won't risk my people for your personal vengeance."

"Fair enough."

"I do have some conditions of my own," Delphine said casually, too casually. "First, we want to be publically recognized as your allies. We might fight the daggers in the dark, but that doesn't make us one."

"Agreed."

"Second, any assassins save the one you mentioned will be dealt with as we deem fit. I don't expect to have to garner your approval every time we catch one of your rats."

"Fine."

"Finally, there's the matter of Paarthurnax. He still must be destroyed. I promised Diana the Blades wouldn't help the Dragonborn until he was dealt with and I meant it. Nothing's changed."

Lydia sat back in her seat. So there it was, the other shoe dropping. "You realize I can't do that. Not only do I not have the troops to spare, but I can't afford to declare war on the Greybeards. They are the most respected and fear group in all of Skyrim. Ulfric trained with them! It would be political suicide. Losing half my allies is not worth anything I could get from you."

Delphine shrugged. "That's my offer. Take it or leave it."

"You don't have to mount an attack against High Hrothgar," Esbern offered. "You could always summon Paarthurnax by Shouting his name much like Diana did with Odahviing."

"It's not something I can just do," Lydia responded. "I have to study and meditate. There's also no guarantee he'll come. It's not like a normal Shout where something happens. It will only draw his attention. And Paarthurnax knows about the trap. He's the one who suggested it in the first place."

"I will not have that monster running free without paying for his crimes!" Delphine snapped.

"A compromise then!" Lydia suggested, holding up her hands. "How about I give you something precious to hold onto as a show of good faith?"

"I'm listening," Delphine said, resting against the table.

* * *

**Loredas 21st Sun's Dusk 205 4E 8:00 AM**

Lydia sighed as she mounted her horse. The negotiations had gone long into the night, but Delphine had agreed to her proposal. The Paarthurnax stipulation was a stickier proposition than she could have hoped for, but most of her planning had depended on some ridiculous task that she could stall on.

Delphine had been leery of the exchange, but in the end Esbern, always the peacekeeper, had talked her into it.

In truth, this was the real reason Lydia came to Sky Haven Temple. She just wondered if she could go through with it.

* * *

**Fredas 1 Morning Star 206 4E 5:00 PM**

Elric was having the best New Life's Day ever! He had woken up to find a huge pile of gifts waiting for him at the foot of his bed. He tore into them like a starving man at a banquet. There had been some yucky new clothes – thick, warm, and practical made with the Stormcloak blue as a common theme. But there had also been a wooden sword - his first sword! – as well as a small shield with the bear emblem of Windhelm. Toys upon toys – balls, boat, carts, little horses, farmers, and building blocks. No more soldiers sadly. Tons of sweets and other treats that he would have gorged on if Tilma had let him.

Best of all, Mommy had eaten breakfast with him. She listened quietly as he told her all about his gifts while he ate huge mouthful after mouthful of bacon, eggs, cheese, gravy, and biscuits. Afterwards they had bundled up in the new clothes and gone outside where they made snowmen and snow angels.

"Do you think Yol-riik sees us from Sovngarde?" he asked as he vigorously made wings for his snow angel.

"Of course, sweetie," Mommy had said, but her smile had seemed strained. She ran her fingers through his fine blonde hair, brushing the snowflakes that had fallen there. "Daddy loves you and will watch over you always."

After that, they had gone back to the Palace of the Kings and had a simple lunch of sandwiches and soup before drinking cups of hot cocoa. Once they were nice and warm again, they went down to the docks where Elric got to sail his new boat. There had been a terrible moment when the boat had gone too far out and Elric had thought it lost. Mommy had hugged him and promised him an even better new boat when one of the lizard men had dived off the pier and swam to the toy. He had brought it back to Elric while balancing it on his tail as he swam.

Elric had squealed with delight and hugged the lizard man's leg, unmindful of how soaked his cloak became. The lizard man had smiled and ruffled his hair, or at least Elric thought it was a smile. It was hard to tell with their tooth mouths.

"Thank you," Mommy had said softly as she detached her son from the lizard man's leg. "Can I give you a few coins for your help?"

"No thank you, ma'am," he answered. "It was no problem and anyone else would have done the same."

"Do you know who my mommy is?" Elric asked. He realized his mommy wasn't wearing her wolf skin cloak. "She's…"

"Very grateful," Mommy said, interrupting. Elric frowned. He was always told to not interrupt. Momma should be yelled at later.

Then they had returned to the Palace where Elric and Mommy had taken a hot bath together. They had splashed each other, made fake beards with bubbles (Mommy had looked especially silly), and then created waves for his boat. After being fluffed dry, they had another meal together alone. Elric was surprised because usually for dinner he ate with Tilma while Mommy talked to important people.

They had eaten all of his favorite things. Mommy had even given him a sip of her wine. Elric thought it tasted bad and bitter and almost spit it out, but he had managed to swallow it just for her. That didn't stop him from drinking big gulps of milk after.

There had been one moment when Mommy went away. Two people had shown up, a blonde haired Breton woman who was older than Mommy and a really, really old Imperial man. He was gray haired and wrinkled like Elric after a long bath. He must have been really old – like thirty! Mommy had introduced them to Elric specifically. "This is Delphine and Esbern," she said. "They're the leaders of the Blades, a very important and honorable group. They're going to help us win the war, baby."

When dinner was over and all of his toys put away, Mommy had climbed into the bed with him and read his favorite books out loud. She didn't seem to mind if he asked her to reread the one about the Nord and the Dragon unlike Tilma who would often tell him, "Once is more than enough, my lordling."

They had snuggled down into the furs, warm and safe. Mommy had kissed his head several times as she hugged him with one arm before turning the page of his book. Elric's eyes were getting heavy and sleepy when Mommy told him the bad news.

"Baby, when Delphine and Esbern leave tomorrow, you're going with them. You're going to go away to Sky Haven Temple to live with them."

"What?" Elric sat straight up, all signs of sleep gone. "No! I don't want to." He grabbed Mommy's arm. "You're coming, right? You'll be coming to join us?"

"No, dear," she shook her head sadly. "I'll be staying here?"

"Why? Did I do something wrong? Do you hate me?" Elric wailed, huge tears running down his chubby cheeks. He should have known today was too perfect. Mommy was always so busy and she had spent the whole day with him and no one else. Not even Yrsarald had been around and Mommy spent a lot of time with him planning the war.

"No, baby, no! I'm doing this because I love you," Mommy promised as she cleaned Elric's face. She patiently had him blow his nose before continuing. "Nordic tradition is that we don't acknowledge children before they are five years old. Most children aren't even given names before they turn one." She brushed his hair back from his hot forehead. "Because of this, people outside of the Palace of the Kings don't know you exist. They don't know why I am fighting for the throne other than to honor Ulfric's memory. Once you turn five though, people will start to talk. There are bad people who will want to hurt you. They'll want to kill you if they know about you. For now you're safe, but I can't risk letting you stay here with me. I can't protect you."

"I still don't understand why I have to leave," Elric sobbed. "I'll stay in my room with all my things. I'll make a fort and hide in it. I don't want to leave you! I love you and I want to stay with you."

"I love you too, and that's why you have to go," Mommy was crying too to Elric's surprise. She crushed him to her. "You're going to be jarl someday, baby. You have to grow up to big, strong, and honorable. Tilma will teach you everything you need to know, Esbern is a wise scholar who knows everything there is to know about dragons, and Delphine will teach you how to fight. You'll have the best of everything and someday when you're sixteen, you'll take the throne of Windhelm and you'll be High King of Skyrim just like your daddy wanted."

"I don't wanna go!" Elric insisted. "I'll be good. I'll be so good and I'll do it here. I can learn about Talos in the temple. I won't sneak down to the marketplace again. I'll eat all of my vegetables so Tilma won't be cranky. I promise!"

"Listen to me," Mommy said. She tilted Elric's chin so he was looking at her instead of burying against her chest. "Did you know your daddy had to go to High Hrothgar to become a Greybeard when he was six? That's not that much older than you are now." It felt like a lifetime to Elric, but he didn't disagree. "He learned how to Shout and someday I'll teach you too. I promise that I'll visit every chance I get, okay? Now be a good boy for me. Be strong and go with Delphine and Esbern tomorrow without any tears. We don't want anyone to say the son of Ulfric Stormcloak is a weakling."

"Okay, Mommy," Elric promised, sniffing. He curled up against her, hugging her until he fell asleep. When he woke, she was still with him, but it was a small comfort.

It had been the worst New Life Day ever.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry this took so long since the last installment. Despite knowing what I wanted to do with this chapter, I was slow on writing it because to be frank I miss Hecate and Cicero. They've always been my primary characters and they're the ones who generally write themselves. I fear sometimes people don't care about Lydia's story despite in many ways it being the primary push for this story arc. I was particularly stuck with her meeting Delphine again. I almost had the Blade Grandmaster be contrary, but realized that was foolish. Delphine is going to want to be as sweet as pie until she brought up the Paarthurnax condition. Once I backed up and changed it, it went a lot smoother.**

**I was going to include a segment about Elisif and Frothar talking about their engagement as well as the actual announcement on New Life Day. However, I felt the chapter was running long and ending here was a good spot. I feel that this subplot will eventually be dealt with in Blackwingedheaven's Age of Assassins.**

**Thanks for reading!**


	11. Dragonborn

**Turdas 23****rd**** Midyear 206 4E 7:00PM**

"The Empire will never take Markarth as long as the Silver-Bloods control it," Thongvor Silver-Blood bragged. He glanced over at his Imperial guest to see if she was offended by his statement only to find her smiling at him while offering her cup to a servant to refill. "The supposed Legion is comprised of little more than sellswords who wish to only placate their Thalmor masters for as much coin as possible. They do not love Skyrim like we do. They are not willing to bleed and die for this land like we Nords, the true children of Skyrim!"

A collective cheer rose from the rest of Thongvor's guests and someone, no doubt his housecarl Yngvar the Singer, started a slow clap. It grew into a full-fledged applause as Thongvor stood and accepted their praise. Most of it was standard sycophant ass kissing, but what really mattered was the story that would be shared later. The people of Markarth would hear of Thongvor's brave words, so similar to the late Ulfric Stormcloak, and rejoice.

It was Dancing Day and the Markarth jarl had thrown a feast to celebrate. People loved parties where food and alcohol were plentiful. It made them more receptive to suggestions on how to spend their own money, time, and resources for another's cause.

"And what about you, my thane?" Thongvor asked, gesturing to the Imperial woman, the only non-Nord at his table. "Don't you have anything to say on behalf of your countrymen?"

The woman shrugged nonchalantly. "What can I say, my jarl? I am a sellsword so it is hardly appropriate for me to look down on any who wishes to make a coin or two for their service. In fact, it is because of my use of my bow and blade that I own that lovely house you sold me. I must admit that I always wonder while trudging up that endless flight of stairs to reach it if that is the type of gift you bequeath people you like, what kind of torture you must keep on hand for those you don't."

Thongvor did not like the laughter that resulted from her jibe. It felt too much like they were laughing at him and not with her. He longed to wipe that smirking, half-lidded look off her face. For a moment, the jarl wondered if he had the right woman. The one he was looking for had a reputation for having a bad temper and if he was right she should have been fuming at Thongvor's speech. No matter. He would confirm his suspicion after dinner.

His gaze never quite left her during the rest of the meal as he studied her. Young looking, probably in her twenties, long black hair braided back, blue eyes, clear complexion, and a tiny thing since she was easily a hand shorter than most Nord women. She wasn't a beauty in the traditional sense, especially by Nordic standards, but there was something about the way she held herself that made her memorable.

"We need to talk," Thongvor said softly when the meal ended and he had said goodbye to most of his guests. She nodded and followed him obediently to his room.

The jarl's quarters were lushly furnished, befitting a Silver-Blood. Ulfric had known who his friends and allies were and had made sure to give them all positions of power as he reclaimed Skyrim for his own. Thongvor still remember when the Bear had taken Markarth over twenty years ago. The streets had run red with blood of the native Reachmen who would become the Forsworn. But that had always been the way of Markarth – blood and silver.

He was still uncertain about this new upstart who had succeeded Ulfric's throne when he died. Lydia Stormblade was loved as the Dragonborn, but was she really jarl material much less High Queen of Skyrim? Some said she claimed she was merely regent until Ulfric's rightful heir could claim his title, but that lead one to wonder who this mysterious heir was and why wasn't he the one leading the Stormcloaks? It felt too much like a plot to him. No matter, when the Moot met Thongvor could always make arrangements for the other jarls to support him instead of Lydia. It wasn't as if it was required for them to vote for the person who had led the armies. "Money talks and bullshit walks" was a standard motto for the Silver-Bloods.

"More wine, my dear?" Thongvor offered as he poured a cup for himself.

"No thank you," she said. "I have work to do and I'll need a clear head."

"Work?" Thongvor laughed. "This late tonight? What could you possibly be doing tonight that requires your line of work?"

"Oh, you know," she smiled, her eyes flickering to his bed and her body language practically screaming sex. "Stuff."

"I know who you are," he said as he circled her. He swirled his cup, enjoying the deep red liquid. "I've known for a while." And he was determined to have her admit it. Then once she had, he would break her and humiliate her before giving her over to the Stormblade.

"Oh really?"

"Yes. You're an Imperial. You're an archer who lends her bow to jarls for bounties. You travel everywhere, never staying in one place for very long." He paused behind her, drawing out the moment.

Her shoulders were stiff. She tried to make them relax, but failed. "Go on, say it," she whispered. "Say who I am."

"You're Diana," he breathed into her ear. She had given him a different name the first time she had appeared in his court asking for work, but he had quickly known it was a fake one. The similarities to the description in the bounty were too many to be coincidence. "The one the Stormblade has put out a generous bounty for. Did you really think I wouldn't know?"

"Actually, I had bet on it." She swirled around faster than Thongvor could follow. Her open palm slammed into his chest, knocking him off balance. His cup flew out of his hand, leaving a spray of red across that wall that leave a stain.

Before Thongvor could regain his balance, she was on him slamming her fists into his face over and over. He fell onto the mattress, bouncing comically as the woman landed on his chest making it impossible to breathe.

"Before I forget," the Imperial smirked as she pulled out her dagger and twirled it in her hand, "Elisif says 'hi'." Then the blade slide across his throat and Thongvor knew nothing else.

The assassin reached to undo Thongvor's breastplate. There was the little business of the bonus. Elisif had asked for "his black heart for proof of its existence." Darker than anything she had expected from the frail jarl, but hadn't they all changed in the last five years?

Before she could touch the metal, a soundless crack of thunder filled the air and Thongvor's corpse started burning from within. The body immolated under her grasp without burning her as a golden energy tore out of it and into her. The assassin was slammed back from the force of power as it filled her, craving for more death and destruction as all dragon souls did.

"Dragonborn," Hecate whispered as she stared in shock at the skeleton, the only remains of the late and unlamented Thongvor Silver-Blood. "Oh gods, he was Dragonborn."

* * *

**Turdas 30th Midyear 206 4E 12:00 AM**

"The Listener has been pensive since her return," Cicero remarked. "What happened in Markarth?"

The two assassins were crouched on the top of western most wall of the Blue Palace. They had traveled to the Imperial controlled capital to claim their payment for the most recent contract from Elisif. Hecate had been quiet since her arrival at Dawnstar Sanctuary two days previous. Cicero felt that it was a poor omen. Killing always made his Listener elated; even if it was days later, she would greet Cicero with kisses and hugs, eager to tumble into her bed with him when she returned.

This time she had given him a chaste kiss on the lips before telling him that she would be traveling to Solitude and asked him to accompany her. It wasn't an unusual request, but something about the way she said it made Cicero wary.

"I'll tell you some of it after we deal with Elisif," she muttered as she pulled on her Tragedy mask. "Come, Comedy, let us visit our Lady Fair."

"As you wish, my Listener," he laughed as he tugged on his own red mask.

They ran in the shadows, unseen by the guards, as they traveled to the garden to meet Elisif. The beautiful Nord was there waiting for them. As far as Cicero could tell the jarl always waited here at midnight the night after she performed the Black Sacrament to summon the Dark Brotherhood. She would meet him and the Listener to tell them who she wanted dead.

Normally this was a task for the Speaker, but given the special nature of these contracts, Hecate bent the rules slightly. She would never admit it, but she was personally invested in the results of the Civil War. Ironic given that if Lydia had not used her Dragonborn reputation, Hecate would have stayed neutral in all ways.

But Cicero traveled with her when she came to Solitude as Diana and paraded in front of the courts to prove she was not the Stormblade. He had heard her whisper her request to Elisif to not kill Lydia. He had seen her take every contract involved with the leaders of the rebellion.

Diana the Dragonborn might not be leading any armies in the name of the Empire, but Hecate the Listener was the dagger in the dark striking precisely and without mercy each time.

"Greetings, Lady Elisif," Hecate called as they jumped down from the wall's walkway.

"Tragedy, Comedy," the Nord nodded stiffly. Even while perched on a stone bench in a flower garden, Elisif sat properly with her back straight. Cicero thought she was more of a ruler than the rest of the lot. He wondered when she would realize it for herself. "I hope you have what I asked for."

"Thongvor Silver-Blood is dead as by your command, my queen," Hecate said lightly as she bowed.

"And his heart?"

"The bonus is forfeit, my lady," Hecate admitted petulantly. Cicero was startled to hear that. The Listener always strove for the bonus. Even if she had been discovered killing the jarl she should have been able to pull his heart from his chest with little trouble. "His heart was lost."

Elisif snorted in disdain. "I expected better."

Hecate moved like lightning to grab the Nord by the front of her shift. "You forget yourself, _my lady_," she growled. "We're assassins, not some couriers! The only promise for a Black Sacrament is death. The bonus is always optional. If I choose to not accept it then I don't owe it to you."

"Get your hands off me!" Elisif demanded, her voice quivering. "I'll call my guards."

"Do it," Hecate taunted. "Bring men to die for your arrogance. I promise if you do summon your men I'll kill them and it won't be fast or clean."

"You wouldn't dare!" Elisif protested. "You work for me!"

"We've complete our contract with you. Pay us and we'll be on our way," Hecate snapped as she released the jarl.

"Fine," Elisif spat. She reached into her robes and pulled out pouch before she tossed it to the Listener. "I should have known that's all you care about."

"No, we pay honor and homage to the Night Mother," Hecate hissed. "I do everything for my goddess. What do you kill for, Elisif? Maybe you should look at the type of person you're becoming and ask yourself if that's the type of person you want ruling Skyrim. If you're going to be High Queen, you'll be the face and heart of your country. If you honestly believe we're little more than mercenaries, what does it say about you?"

Despite the muffling of the mask, Cicero could tell that Hecate was on the verge of tears. If this conversation continued for much longer, her thu'um would invoke and then where would they be? He placed a hand on her shoulder and pulled her away. "Come, my Listener, we should go," he whispered.

"I don't want…" she started.

"Now!" Cicero insisted. He would drag her out of here kicking and screaming if he had to. There was a time to act foolish and there was the possibility of risking the Brotherhood. Cicero was all for the first, but he would be damned before he stood silently by for the second.

"Until the next time, Elisif," Hecate said with a mock curtsy before turning with Cicero and scaling the garden walls to make their exit.

"What was all that about?" Cicero snapped once they were down by the shoreline. They never immediately went back to Proudspire Manor after meeting Elisif. It was unlikely that the jarl would betray them, but it was better to not take unnecessary risks that a guard may spot them as they left.

"She was disrespectful," Hecate snarled as she pulled off her mask. Even in just the light of the moons Cicero could see that her face was flushed. It was just a question whether it was from the mask or anger that colored her cheeks so.

"You agitated her!" Cicero snapped as he removed his own mask. "Cicero has never seen Hecate talk in such a tone to Elisif before. Never as Tragedy and never as Diana! Why attack our petitioner?"

"She thinks we're her pets to retrieve for her at her command," Hecate sniffed. She picked up a rock and tossed it into the ocean.

"Something happened on that trip to Markarth," Cicero said plainly. "What has Hecate's panties in such a bunch?"

"Cicero," she warned.

"It's true," he scoffed, "don't try to lie to Cicero. Cicero always knows, just not always why."

"It has to do with forfeiting the bonus," she admitted with a sigh. She flopped onto the stony shore and wrapped her arms around her knees. "It really shook me up."

"Too used to being perfect?" Cicero teased.

"Too used to being unique," Hecate mumbled. She looked up at her grinning jester. "Cicero, would you mind if we made a detour on the way home? I want to stop by a place called Skyborn Altar in Hjaalmarch. It's high up in the mountains so we'll have to hurry on Shadowmere to make it back to Sanctuary in time for Mother."

"Why, my Listener?" Cicero asked, curious.

"I want you to kill a dragon for me," she said. "Can you do that for me?"

"For the Listener, Cicero would kill a god," he promised with a laugh. Cicero offered his hand to Hecate so she could stand. "If the journey is far, we should get started as soon as possible."

* * *

**Fredas 1 Sun's Height 206 4E 3:00 PM**

They hadn't slept much the night before. Instead they had opted to ride most of the night to make it to the mountains that housed the Skyborn Altar. Hecate felt jittery as she settled into her crevice with her bow readied. She knew she was in no danger. Even if the dragon woke too soon at this distance she could shoot it down before it could even find her.

It was Cicero she was worried about. He was crawling with dagger in hand towards the slumbering beast. She couldn't hear him from this far away, but Hecate could all too easily imagine him chuckling or singing to himself as he closed the distance to the dragon.

She took a deep breath, trying to find the comfort of the Void as she always did before a battle. No fear, no pain, no anxiety. Just her, her weapon, and her target. That comforting chanted litany to fall into the Void.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Kill.

Only this time, she wouldn't be the one doing the killing. At least, hopefully. No, she was only there as a safety net.

She was impressed that he was almost able to touch the dragon when it finally woke. She knew from fighting the beasts alongside Lydia that they were very sensitive to the area around them and the slightest noise woke them.

It reared up on its hind legs immediately awake, wings flapping enough to make Cicero's cap's flaps flutter madly. It roared its displeasure at the tiny _joor_ that dared to disturb its rest. Fire shot over the jester's shoulder as he ducked.

Hecate pulled her bow, ready to fire if the dragon took to the air. Cicero would have no chance once it was off the ground. But until then, the show was his. If only if her heart didn't feel like it was in her throat.

Cicero screamed with laughter in response to the dragon's roar. Fearless, he dove at it, thrusting his dagger into the hard chest. Hecate had tried to tell him about the few weak points in a dragon's scales, but the Keeper didn't seem to be finding them. His blade skittered along the rough surface, creating sparks as it skidded along.

"Take the shot!" her brain screamed. She easily saw at least three spots that would slow the dragon down if not outright kill it, but she held her hand. She had to know. And she couldn't take the chance that the person who dealt the killing blow earned the dragon's soul over whoever was closest.

The dragon brought down its wing trying to buffet Cicero to the ground, but the small Imperial jumped back, looking like a child at play. He danced for a few steps falling back, beckoning and teasing the dragon. He must have been at his most infuriating because the dragon did not take wing. Instead it fell to a crouching position and stomped towards the Keeper, snapping at him with its triangular head.

Cicero timed the dragon's attack perfectly. Once its jaw was snapped closed, he pushed both of his hands on top of its snout and used it as a vault to flip onto its head. He spun gracefully and did a two-handed stab downward into its eye with his dagger. The creature screamed with pain and lashed backwards, trying to dislodge Cicero, but he held fast. Hecate could hear his mad laughter echoing through the hills.

The jester stabbed again and again in the soft eye. The dragon thrashed one last time before gong still. Never one to assume an enemy was dead, Cicero swung down and slid his dagger along the dragon's throat, spilling hot steamy blood onto the snowy ground. The dragon didn't move.

And neither did its soul.

"Cicero did it! Cicero did it! Ha, ha, ha! Mighty dragonslayer as well as Keeper, so mighty is he!" Cicero sang and danced cheerfully. "Come, Listener! Come and see how well Cicero did!"

Hecate waited a minute more, hoping against hope, that maybe it was only taking longer than usual since this was his first dragon. But no, the dragon's corpse stayed whole and bloody. "Coming, my Keeper," she called, her heart heavy.

"Cicero is the best assassin that ever lived!" the jester crowed as he whirled on one toe. "Who needs a Dragonborn when the Keeper is around?" His laughter echoed in the afternoon air as he danced.

"Well done, Cicero. I knew you could do it," Hecate called.

Cicero paused in his celebration when he heard her. She could tell that he knew her smile was too tight, a little too fake, because he asked, "What's wrong? Cicero thought the Listener would be pleased?"

Then the crackling of flesh burning from within drew his attention. Cicero whirled around, drawing his dagger, instantly ready for danger as soundless thunder cracked through the air. Fire burst along the dragon's frame, burning from within as flesh and scale turned into ash to blow away in the wind. Golden light burst from the corpse and slammed into Hecate's body.

She threw her arms open as if to embrace the soul as she devoured it. She felt full of life. Everything was heightened. The sun was brighter, the call of the birds singing, the rustle of the wind. Even Cicero's faded motley looked redder than usual.

"What was that?" Cicero whispered in awe. "Oh, Listener, that was an amusing trick. Tell Cicero how you did it!"

"Not a trick," she murmured. "A dragon's soul. I devoured it because I am Dragonborn." She paused before going to him and wrapping her arms around her Keeper and burying her head against his chest. "I had hoped you were one too."

Cicero laughed as he held her tight. "Now why would dear, sweet Hecate want that? Didn't she once tell Cicero that she didn't want him to learn how to breathe fire? What if poor Cicero were to get sad or upset and Shouted like Hecate did? Cicero would have to worry about hurting poor Mother! No, no, it is better that we only have one Dragonborn in our Sanctuary, eh?"

Hecate chuckled as she wiped away her tears. "I suppose you're right," she sighed. Only Cicero didn't know that she wasn't getting older because of dragon souls while he was. She had never found a good time to tell him.

"Why in the world did Hecate think she wasn't the only Dragonborn?" Cicero asked.

"Because Thongvor Silver-Blood was one," she said, still not really believing the words despite what she had seen. "His body crumbled just like this dragon's and I stole his soul."

"Ho, ho, ho," Cicero cackled. "No wonder the Listener was so cranky. To have something so foul as a Silver-Blood's soul in you would make any reasonable person mean."

"You're teasing me," Hecate pouted.

"You deserve it," Cicero stuck his tongue out at her. He gently took her chin and tilted her head so she was looking at him. "You'll have to apologize to Elisif."

"What?" Hecate whined. "I don't want to!"

"You must!" Cicero insisted. "You made her feel bad and part of the Brotherhood's purpose is to bring closure and vengeance to those faithful who pray. Despite the dark ritual they perform, our petitioners are innocents who cannot shed blood for those they hate."

"The Tenets must be observed?" she mused.

"Hmm," he agreed. "It is disrespectful to treat Mother's children so poorly."

"Oh, you apply everything to the First Tenet!" she said as she slapped Cicero's arm. She sighed, pushing her hair back. "But I suppose that you're right."

"Cicero is always right," the Keeper bragged. "This is more than just about losing the bonus and Elisif's reaction. You've been uptight about her ever since you talked to her as Diana last year. Go make amends however you see fit. Cicero has faith in you, dear Listener."

* * *

**Sundas 3rd Sun's Height 206 4E 11:00 PM**

Elisif tossed and turned in her huge bed. She still had problems falling asleep when she was alone. Growing up, she had been piled into a bed with sisters and cousins keeping each other warm through the cold nights. Then as an adult, she had shared her bed with Torygg. Now her bed was too big and lonely and she could never get comfortable.

It had been made worse since her last visit from the Brotherhood. How dare they speak to her that way? Talking down to her like that. Still, she had to admit that at least Tragedy had berated her for her behavior instead of telling her to do nothing.

A cool breeze brushed across her face, smelling strongly of the sea. Elisif sat up, feeling vulnerable in her shift, and saw that her window was open with the curtains fluttering gently. Before she could get out of the bed to close it, a shadow emerged from among the curtains. It darted across the room and rested on the bed with her with barely a squeak.

A gloved hand went over Elisif's mouth before she could scream for help. The figure settled its weight on her chest, pinning her hands down and keeping her from being able to move. She tried to struggle, but the invader was stronger than she. Her mind shrieked in terror. This was it! She was dead. Either the Stormcloaks had finally managed to get their own elite killer or they had bought the Brotherhood. Her blue eyes flicked up and her heart sank when she saw the sneering visage of Tragedy's mask.

"Shush," the assassin murmured. "Don't yell. I want to talk." She waited for Elisif to nod before slowly removing her hand. When Elisif didn't immediately start screaming, Tragedy slid off her and onto the mattress. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't sleeping," Elisif answered. She wasn't certain how she was able to talk, her heart was beating so hard she thought she was going to pass out. "Why are you here? I didn't perform another Black Sacrament. Where is your partner?"

"Comedy is otherwise engaged," Tragedy chuckled. The assassin paused, looking uncertain although it was hard to tell with the face concealing mask. "I came to apologize."

"You did?" Elisif didn't know assassins could apologize.

"Yes," Tragedy nodded and sighed. "I was unfairly harsh to you the other day. I was embarrassed at my failure and I took it out on you. I also had other personal problems and I should have taken a few days to resolve them before coming to you. We're a professional organization. I shouldn't have treated you so familiarly. You deserved better treatment as both my employer and jarl."

"Thank you," Elisif said. She was shocked at the admission, but it made her smile too. None of her advisors ever said they were wrong or they should have respected her more. She patted the assassin's hand. "That means very much to me." She chuckled nervously. "In some ways you know the real me more than anyone else. None of my court has any idea who is summoning the Brotherhood. Some of them think it is Tullius and he's clever enough to not deny it nor confirm it. He doesn't think it's particularly honorable, but I think he's more concerned about not losing his commission or his head by losing this war, so anything that makes him look formidable only strengthen his position."

"It's safer for you to stay quiet," Tragedy said, her fingers entwining with Elisif's. The jarl gasped at the touch. "You could lose the Moot even if you win the war."

"They wouldn't dare!" Elisif exclaimed. She realized that she was getting loud so she leaned closer to Tragedy and lowered her voice. "They wouldn't dare!"

"Why not? Nords believe in strength and honor. Unless you prove yourself before the war ends, the people of Skyrim will think the real power in your court is your advisors. I have heard more respect for Tullius and Falk Firebeard than for you. You used to have the excuse of being a green girl on the throne and a new widow, but now you've ruled for almost five years. How have you proven yourself? You've gotten engaged to the boy of one of your allies. When do you stand on your own, lady?"

"You shouldn't talk to me that way!" Elisif protested. "What happened to your talk of speaking more properly to me?"

"Because I spoke out of personal aggravation," Tragedy shook her head. "Now I am fulfilling the role of all jesters. I speak the truth when none other dare. I am telling you what you need to hear, not what you want to hear."

"Hmph," Elisif snorted. "You remind me of my friend Diana. She said very similar things to me."

"Is that so?" Tragedy asked. She reached up and, to Elisif's surprise, unhooked the bottom part of her mask. The top part stayed on, now looking like a domino style covering. The eyes were still cruelly shaped, but without the grotesquely downward frowning mouth the assassin looked more human.

It comforted Elisif more than she wanted to admit. She had been scared that maybe Comedy and Tragedy weren't human or mer, but some daedra in disguise. She had never heard of the children of Sithis using demonic influences before—since the Void god was supposed to be neither Aedra nor Daedra—but one never knew what was truth and what was fiction with the old lore.

"What are you…?" Elisif was interrupted by Tragedy's hand brushing her cheek before the assassin leaned forward and kissed her. The jarl made a muffled sound of surprise as the other woman's lips locked against hers. She felt a shock of arousal shoot through her body from the contact.

"I've never forgotten your complaint about us being your bedfellows," Tragedy chuckled against Elisif's ear. She ran her fingers through the fine strawberry blonde hair. "I've never quite been able to get it out of my head. The thought of you ruined under me as I touch and taste every part of you."

"Stop!" Elisif commanded. She didn't care how loud she was. "I don't know you!"

"You don't really know your fiancé either, do you?" Tragedy asked, scooting closer so she wasn't quite touching the jarl. She ran one gloved finger down Elisif's jawline. "Is that going to stop you from taking his virginity on your wedding night?"

"Don't be crass," Elisif stammered. She could feel herself flushing. The thought of taking Frothar to bed and being the dominant partner was alien to her, but honestly what else would she expect? Balgruuf seemed too proper to send his oldest child to a Dibellan priestess to practice their art. She didn't even know which thought was worse. A completely inexperienced virgin, or a boy who had dallied with prostitutes before coming to her bed?

"I could be so much more crass if I wanted to," Tragedy grinned. Her hand trailed to the top of Elisif's shift, running along the flushed skin. The breeze from the wind picked up again, blowing across her flesh, cooling her and emphasizing how hot she felt. "Did you go to Torygg a virgin?"

Elisif nodded, too flustered to form words.

"You can't be the virgin forever," the assassin said. "I could show you things. Make you more comfortable in your bed as it were."

The Nord shifted uncomfortably as the other woman's hand trailed down and cupped her breast. Her hand kneaded her gently while her thumb played with her rock hard nipple.

"Yes or no, the choice is yours," Tragedy promised as she ran her lips down Elisif's neck. The jarl shuddered from the touch.

"No," Elisif moaned.

"No? Are you sure? Normally I wouldn't ask, but when someone presses against my touch like that, the answer is usually the opposite."

"No," Elisif repeated, forcing herself to lean away from the assassin's touch. She took a deep, shaky breath wondering how in Oblivion she had gotten into that situation.

"Well, if you change your mind, you know how to get ahold of me," Tragedy snickered as she sat back and replaced the bottom part of her mask. "Although you should figure a better method than the Black Sacrament. We owe the Night Mother a death when we are called that way and I doubt she was thinking of the 'little death,' as the Bretons call it."

She got off the bed and made an ironic bow. "I'm glad we had this little talk, my jarl. Until we meet again." Then she was just a shadow slipping out of the window, closing it behind her.

Elisif flopped back onto the bed, feeling frustrated as well as shaky. How did she get into these sorts of situations?

* * *

**Tirdas 5th Sun's Height 206 4E 2:00 PM**

"Welcome home!" Cicero called when he saw Hecate come into Sanctuary. He was hunched over the alchemy table preparing oils for Mother. "How did it go?"

"Well, thank you," Hecate said as she kissed him on the cheek. "It worked. Making it so she rejected me instead of me rejecting her made me feel better. Even if she didn't know that was what she was doing."

"Good, good," the Keeper nodded happily. "Cicero knew it would."

"My Keeper is always right," she teased, playing with his hair. "I'm glad she didn't say yes. I don't know what I would have done then."

"You would have had a night of passion and felt guilty about it," Cicero snorted. "No doubt you would have come back here even faster, confessed everything, and wept in Cicero's arms until sweet Cicero made love to you to make you feel better."

"How can you be so blasé about it?" she asked.

"Because it's part of the job," Cicero shrugged. "We sometimes have to take undesirable roles to get a contract done. Cicero knows that it would not have been undesirable, per se, for Hecate to lie with the lovely Elisif, but it is also something she wouldn't do for the sake of doing." He patted her hand. "But if she had any thoughts of you being Diana, that will be suppressed now. So, good, yes?"

"Am I just a job to you?" she asked.

"No," Cicero shook his head. "Everything Cicero has done, he has chosen to do. That is the joy of being an assassin! We can do what we please without the concerns of common convention."

"But you just said that sometimes we have to do unpleasant things for the sake of completing a contract," Hecate protested. "You just contradicted yourself?"

"Did I?" Cicero posited. "Hmm, no, Cicero doesn't remember doing that."

"You're a real brat, you know that?" Hecate snorted as she lightly tapped Cicero on the back of the head. "Maybe next time I'll make you go and seduce the jarl."

"If Cicero was sent, he would succeed," Cicero teased. "Elisif would be called 'Elisif the Bow-Legged' instead of Elisif the Fair."

"That's actually sort of hot," Hecate admitted. Her hands wrapped around Cicero's shoulders and started to massage them. "You should show me your exact technique sometime when you're available. Just for reference, of course."

"Cicero is available right now if the Listener would like to learn," he grinned as he took one of her hands and kissed it. "Cicero is always eager."

"Then come, my Keeper."

"Oh, I plan on it," Cicero declared as he turned around and swept Hecate up into his arms before bolting to her room as her laughter filled the Sanctuary. "By the way, what did that wall with the draconic writing behind the dragon say?"

A look of horror crossed Hecate's face as she realized in all of the excitement she had forgotten to look at the Word Wall to learn a new word of power.

"Oh crap!"


	12. Absent Fathers

**Turdas 25****th**** Last Seed 206 4E 5:00 AM**

It was still dark out when General Tullius's eyes snapped open. He had woken this time of day almost every day for the last thirty years. The general couldn't remember the last time he needed someone to wake him for the day. He was nothing if not a creature of habit.

The older man didn't bother to light a candle as he got dressed. There was no need. He knew exactly where his meager possessions were—tragically few for as long as he had lived here in Castle Dour, but General Tullius had never been much for material possessions. There were a few items of value to him—his Imperial armor, his blade, a ribbon that had belonged to his dead wife—but he did not have anything that mattered that he couldn't carry on his back for leagues if necessary.

General Tullius was a soldier through and through. Ever since he was a young man of eighteen, he had been a Legionnaire. He had joined the Imperial ranks as part of his citizen's duty and stayed when the two years had lapsed. He had advanced steadily in the ranks despite his own personal tragedies through the years. Maybe because of them to be fair. General Tullius had always been able to throw himself into his work when everything else was falling apart.

When he entered the planning room, he was not surprised to see Legate Rikke there waiting for him. No matter when he arrived, his second-in-command was there before him. It was admittedly a little vexing for his subordinate to always manage to precede him, but General Tullius did admire her dedication to the Legion. Rikke was his primary resource on dealing with the native Nords. Not only did she help provide a role model the younger soldiers could look up to and respect, but she understood the local customs much better than he ever would.

It had been five years since Ulfric Stormcloak began this damn war. Five years of perpetual winters, bland meals, ever-flowing mead, and distrustful Nords. Even the ones who kept their vows to the Empire rarely seemed to think of themselves as Imperial citizens. They were Nords first in their hearts and they kept their heritage sacred in a way that was almost enviable.

That was why the Empire had almost lost the war three years ago. Lydia Stormblade had declared herself the Dragonborn and had taken up Ulfric Stormcloak's cause. Men and women who had been undecided in politics flocked to her banner because of the ancient art of the Voice. They had believed she was the one destined to save humanity when she killed Alduin World-Eater in Sovngarde, but the truth was far more disappointing.

Lydia had been nothing more than a simple housecarl to the true hero, Diana Dragonborn, and had stolen her thane's reputation to help bolster Ulfric's floundering troops. It was sickening that Ulfric had allowed her lies to save his cause when he knew the truth of the matter. But then again, what kind of man killed his own king with a power like the thu'um? No hero, as far as General Tullius was concerned.

Ulfric Stormcloak had been a dangerous opponent. The son of a jarl of a hold with a history that stretched back to the famous Ysgramor, founder of the Companions and the Nordic First Empire, a Legionnaire officer during the Great War, and an apprentice to the elusive Greybeards, masters of the Voice. Ulfric had been a man in his prime, charismatic, passionate, and driven.

And General Tullius was almost his exact opposite.

It was almost a joke to have stationed him here for this conflict, but the Empire could not afford to lose another province. Some Imperial influence needed to be established before they lost Skyrim to secession. In reality, General Tullius was too high ranking for the position of the general of the Skyrim armies, but he had never bothered to learn the game of politics—and as a result he had ended up here.

Not that he had anything in Cyrodiil to hold him there. It had been a long time since he had had a family of any sort. Sure, there were days when he missed the warm weather and variety of color the flowers brought. There were days when he missed there being real seasons. And sometimes he missed the food and the conversation. But did he crave those things? Did he need them? No, not really. It was better that he was here instead of some young man with something to prove or a tired officer who had a family at home waiting for them. He could afford to take his time instead of making rash decisions that would cost the Empire this war and people their lives.

"What do we have planned for today, Legate?" General Tullius asked as he settled into his military stance—arms crossed behind his back, legs set apart at the ready.

"Nothing spectacular, sir," she answered briskly as she bent over the table to tap a few blue flags. As she spoke about current supply lines and the securing of Markarth, General Tullius couldn't stop from admiring the swell of her legs under her armor's skirt. He would never abuse his position by dallying with a subordinate officer, but that didn't mean he couldn't enjoy the view. Rikke was a robust woman in her late forties with a very prestigious family history in the Legion. Despite rumors of a romantic history with Ulfric Stormcloak, she had never been less than a perfect solider either in General Tullius' presence or on her own personal time. "The privates are planning a training exercise in the courtyard today. I thought it might boost morale if we were to observe them."

"I suppose I could stand to watch them slaughter archery targets for a few hours," General Tullius said drily. Honestly, there were worse details, but he was hard pressed to think of any at the moment. Not only was it tedious to watch raw recruits do the same basic drills over and over, but General Tullius had never enjoyed personal instruction. He thrived on conferring with experts and making strategies from there, not showing a private how to hold his blade correctly.

"Excellent, sir, I'll let the commanding officer know when we're arriving," Rikke responded, ignoring General Tullius' sarcasm.

After a quick breakfast of toast and hot tea, General Tullius found himself with Rikke out in the practice yard watching the men doing formations in the predawn fog. The privates looked as organized as he had feared which was not at all. Most of them were bleary eyed and tousled haired, but they were dressed and in a neat line at least. He watched as Rikke tore them a new hole as she berated them for their appearances.

"You represent the Legion, boys," she scowled. "The citizens look up to you to protect them, their families, and their lands. You make damn sure to always look your best regardless of the time of day. I don't care if it's noon or midnight, you look shiny. Do you understand me?!"

"Yes, ma'am!"

"Good, now do ten laps around the yard and make it look sharp!" Rikke called. "Ten hup!"

The shuffle of feet filled the yard as the recruits started their rounds. General Tullius tried his best to stifle a sigh as he watched them. Sometimes he missed being that young. He missed the energy and optimism, but then he remembered how dumb he was at that age and didn't miss that at all.

As Rikke reclaimed her place beside him, he felt a chill run up his spine. "Have you ever heard of 'killing intent,' Legate?" he asked quietly.

"Sir?" Rikke looked at him curiously.

"That feeling you get when you're in the middle of a battlefield and know someone is about to attack you from behind. You have no way to know it other than some instinct that warns you just in time to move."

"Once or twice, sir," Rikke granted. "Why do you ask?"

"A good solider hones that ability," General Tullius answered, slowly sliding his eyes to his right without turning his head. There in an alley, he saw a silhouette lurking in the darkness. "Not everyone who wants to kill you does it openly on a battlefield. Just as frequently you'll have the same enemies in the court, but they wield words instead of daggers."

"I'll keep that in mind, sir," Rikke said, sounding a little doubtful.

"Just watch my back, Legate," General Tullius said as he turned towards the alley.

"I always do," Rikke promised, not leaving her post. If General Tullius had wanted her to follow, he would have said so. He liked that she understood that unspoken command.

General Tullius strode to the shadowy figure which was quickly becoming the shape of an Imperial man with red hair, indeterminate age but most likely forties, unhealthy pale skin, and amber eyes. He exuded fighting intent. "Can I help you, citizen?" the general asked coolly.

Suddenly, the man's manner was completely different. He was smiling and cheerful instead of the deadly aura he has exuded moments before. General Tullius wondered if he had misread the fellow as the smaller man grabbed his hand in both of his and shook enthusiastically. "Why yes," the stranger purred, his voice high, "General Tullius certainly can help sweet Cicero."

* * *

**Turdas 25****th**** Last Seed 206 4E 5:00 PM**

"You did what?" Diana asked, her voice flat.

"Cicero invited General Tullius to dinner!" the jester proudly repeated.

"Why? When?" Diana yelled. She bit down on her tongue to keep her thu'um in check. Jordis was peeking from around the corner, her eyes as wide as saucer pans. It wouldn't do to scare their timid and somewhat ditzy housecarl with her Shouts making everything rattle in their shelves.

"This morning, very, very early," Cicero answered, ignoring her first question. "General Tullius was very tickled to finally meet dear Diana's darling husband after so many years of missed opportunities." Cicero gave her a disapproving one eyed stare. "Shameful really. The highest ranking member of the Imperial army not knowing what the legendary Dragonborn's spouse looks like."

"Cicero," Diana growled as she clenched her fists, "I will end you." She had wondered why she had awoken to an empty bed. It hadn't bothered her at the time, Cicero rarely slept the night through when he did bother to sleep, but now she was pissed. He could have told her at any point the whole day, but he had waited to the last minute so she couldn't change his plans.

"Hm, promises, my dear," Cicero chuckled. "Still, it is only politic for sweet Cicero to meet the taciturn Tullius, yes?"

"And what would you know about General Tullius?" Diana asked through gritted teeth. Cicero wasn't wrong. It was disgraceful that she had never properly introduced him to General Tullius, but he was so unpredictable, she never knew if he would be a perfect gentleman or if he would start tumbling on the dinner table scattering the meal everywhere. That particular stunt wouldn't be the worst possible thing that could happen. What if Cicero decided he hated the man? She knew he would needle and heckle General Tullius incessantly and she needed the general as an ally in Solitude.

Jarl Elisif might sit on the throne, but in reality it was General Tullius who lead the city, especially in everything military. Diana hoped one day the actual seat of power would rein in Elisif's hands after the leader proved herself mature enough for the responsibility, but that wouldn't happen if General Tullius was cornered into a situation where he looked like a petty fool who had to defend his station, something Cicero was much too good at achieving.

"Cicero listens, he does!" her fake spouse insisted. "Cicero goes into the market while we're in Solitude and he talks to the merchants. Cicero buys drinks for the officers. Cicero gossips with jolly Jordis."

Diana looked over at the tall strawberry blonde lurking out of sight but within earshot, awaiting any orders from her thane. Little ears were listening to their every word, something that drove Diana to distraction. She'd have a few extra choice words for Cicero otherwise. They had some of their Brotherhood gear here, stashed under the bed in a chest in case they needed to make an appearance as Comedy and Tragedy. What if General Tullius were to discover it? She had no idea how much of a snoop he might be, but she did know he had been rather dogged about meeting Cicero over the years which didn't speak well of his respect of people's privacy.

"It'll be fine!" Cicero continued when Diana didn't say anything. "If General Tullius likes the dinner, then he'll be satisfied and his honor will no longer be impugned. If he hates it, then he'll never want to visit again. Either way, everyone is happy!"

"I'm not very happy right now," she spat.

"I'll make you happy later," Cicero leered, trying to make her at least smile, but it was no good. She was pissed.

Before Diana could respond, there was a knock at the door. "He's here!" Cicero sang, running to answer it. He was as excited as a child on New Life Day. Meanwhile Jordis ran in a small circle looking very much like a confused puppy not sure how to deal with a guest much less one as important as General Tullius

Diana could only sigh as she rubbed her forehead. For better or worse, General Tullius was here and he had already met her wayward Keeper. Cicero must not have made that bad of an impression if the general had agreed to the meeting. As much as she hated to admit it, the Fool was often right about this sort of thing.

Might as well get this over as soon as possible, she figured as she approached the door. Cicero had flung it open and was squealing at their guest. Diana paused in surprise when General Tullius entered Proudspire Manor. In all the years she had known the man, she had never seen him out of his Imperial officer's leathers. Tonight he was wearing a civilian's outfit. It was well cut and made of fine quality material. The brown cloth was unassuming and if she hadn't known him General Tullius would have been completely forgettable. It wasn't quite new, the style was too dated, but there was almost no visible wear. He looked uncomfortable as he tugged off his coat.

Typically General Tullius looked rather dashing in his officer's uniform. He was confident in his position of authority that only came from years of competent work and a well-earned reputation of victories. Although he was still handsome enough for an older man, tonight he looked…frail. Mundane. Mortal. It left Diana with an unwanted chill that she tried her best to shake off.

"I brought some Imperial wine," General Tullius said as a way of greeting. He practically shoved the bottle into her hands. "I know it's harder to find up here as the embargo in Jerall's Pass tightens, but I figured what the hell. If you can't drink well with the Dragonborn, who can you drink well with?"

"Thank you, General Tullius," Diana murmured as she handed the bottle to Jordis. When the housecarl stood there with the bottle, she sighed and commanded, "Put that on ice until dinner, dear."

"Yes, my thane!" Jordis said before scurrying off to fulfill her thane's wish.

"You don't have to use my title, Diana," the older Imperial said as he fell into a military stance. "I'm off duty right now. For all intents and purposes, I'm a citizen just like you."

"Of course, Tullius," Diana replied, hiding a chuckle. No one currently in the room would ever be described as 'just a citizen,' but here they were all trying to play the part. "Would you like a seat?"

"Yes, of course," Tullius nodded curtly. "I often forget to remember to ask for one. You get used to standing all the time in the army. If we're not marching, we're standing it seems." He took the offered seat, not quite relaxing into it, but at least he wasn't perching in it.

"I remember from my time," Diana said chuckling as she sat next to him. "My legs felt like noodles after the first day."

Cicero was bouncing around the room, asking questions rapidly. "Would Tullius like something to drink? Something to eat? A snack before the meal?"

"Cicero, sit," Diana commanded sharply. "We have Jordis for all that."

The Keeper pouted, but he obeyed, flopping into the remaining chair. "Cic- I'm just trying to be a good host," he pouted.

"I'm sorry, Tullius, he's very excitable," Diana said as she watched her wayward companion. "We don't entertain very often. I'm not very well suited for it." Neither was Cicero, but it wasn't necessary to point that out.

"I understand," Tullius said laconically. "I always left the amusement of our guests to my wife, Helvia."

"I didn't know you were married," Diana said. She noticed Cicero become very still as he leaned forward in his seat, his attention focused on Tullius. Honestly, she should have known Tullius was married. It was almost mandatory for a high ranking military man to have a wife and children. A family unit represented stability in a way that bachelorhood did not. "Is your family in Skyrim?"

"No, I'm afraid I don't have a family anymore," Tullius said simply. His hand touched his belt pouch. "They've all passed away."

"I'm so sorry," the Dragonborn said, feeling uncomfortable. How do you properly express sorrow for people you never met?

"Don't be. They died a long time ago," Tullius said. He looked at Cicero. "Coincidentally, my son's name was Cicero. He and his mother had the same red hair as your husband."

Diana bit her tongue when he said that. Red hair was rare in Imperials, unlike the Nords. She looked over at Cicero, but his face revealed nothing. "Is that so?" she asked slowly, wondering at the coincidence.

"He would have been of a similar age too," Tullius said, taking a long drink from his cup. Diana felt like she couldn't breathe. Coincidence was rapidly becoming something else. "Listen to me ramble about myself. I'd rather learn more about you and your husband. Where are you from?"

"I'm from Bravil," Diana said, although truthfully that had been a different girl living there then. Diana had been born in Skyrim, Helgen to be specific, but Bravil would always be home no matter what name she called herself. "I haven't been back since I was seventeen though."

"And what about you, Cicero?" Tullius asked. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. He clearly was having the same thoughts as Diana regarding the similarities between her Cicero and his dead son.

"Cicero was born in Cheydinhal," the redhead said. Diana flinched. He was slipping into his odd vocal tic frequently tonight. "I spent most of my life taking care of my mother. She couldn't take care of herself and all of my siblings had died."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Tullius said bluntly. Diana thought he looked a bit disappointed at Cicero's response. Whatever response he had been looking for, that was not it. "Where is your mother now?"

"Oh, she's dead too," Cicero tittered, looking too deranged for Diana's tastes. She silently begged that he not burst into song about killing things. "But she rests easily now, so Cicero doesn't mind at all. Especially since he met dear Diana." He smiled gently as he took her hand and squeezed it. "Mother's silence doesn't ring in Cicero's ears as much now with Diana around to listen."

Diana thought she was going to have a panic attack. What was he doing? His story sort of sounded innocent enough, but she was sharply reminded of when she met Cicero on the roadside near the Loreius farm when he had given a similar story about needing to bury his mother. Cicero might be striving to look like the innocent wayward traveler, but he was only coming off as a scary stranger instead.

"Dinner!" Jordis cheerfully declared as she rang a bell. The Listener had never been happier to see the housecarl.

They filed to the dining table and settled into their seats as Jordis fluttered among them placing plates. She served them a typical Nord meal – potatoes, carrots, and venison. The housecarl hummed happily as she served them.

"My thane, will we be having an or-"

"No!" Diana snapped. Tullius looked at her in surprise. "I'm sorry, it's just…"

"Innocent Jordis keeps asking us if we'll have an orgy," Cicero interrupted, giggling.

Tullius' brow furrowed as he frowned. "Jordis, why would you think there would be an orgy?"

"Oh, I, that is," the housecarl mumbled, nervous after being chastised. "I heard it was a sort of party Imperials threw. I thought since you were here, General Tullius, Thane Diana would want to host one in your honor."

"Jordis, an orgy is where many people have sex with each other, sometimes in pairs and sometimes in groups. It's not a conversation for the dinner table," Tullius told her brusquely. After Jordis blushed as red as her hair and scurried back to the kitchen to check on something, he turned to Diana. "Sorry if I stepped out of line, but I always felt it was better to deliver a harsh truth than a sweet lie."

"No, you're right. I should have told her soon, but it's so hard to talk about such things with an innocent like her," Diana admitted. She had been lying and playing politics for so long that she had forgotten the simplicity of just saying the truth and found that she missed it. "I should have said something to her sooner."

Tullius glanced in the direction that Jordis fled. "I admit I almost laughed out loud when she asked." He chuckled which made Diana and Cicero laugh and after that the meal went much smoother. It was nice to talk about home after being gone so long.

In many ways Diana was reminded of the first night she had met Cicero and he had taken refuge in Breezehome while waiting for his wagon to be repaired. They had spent hours talking about Cyrodiil, but now she found that the memories were much more faded than before. Memories that used to be crisp in her mind were now only vague outlines worn away by time.

It was late when Tullius finally excused himself for the night. "I thank you for the meal and the wine," he said as he stretched, "but these bones are old and morning comes early. You'll find in time that it's impossible to sleep in."

As Diana and Cicero escorted the general to the door, he turned to Cicero, "Do you mind if I have a word alone with the Dragonborn?"

"As you wish," Cicero murmured as he bowed before flitting off to help Jordis with the dishes.

Although it was still late summer, it was cool when Tullius and Diana stepped outside. She could see the faint mist of breath hanging in the air. "Your man served, didn't he?" Tullius asked.

"Didn't we all?" Diana asked lightly, although in truth Cicero had never been part of the Legion. He had joined the Brotherhood too young to be enlisted.

"I don't mean the standard two years," Tullius clarified. "He saw something that changed him. I've seen it in many a solider. Some people can't handle death and others can't handle too much death. It wrecks a man's nerves at best and destroys his mind at worst." He glanced at Diana. "That's what I mean when I asked if Cicero served."

He served the Brotherhood more loyally than any man should have to, but she couldn't tell Tullius that. "The loss of his family was hard on him," she admitted, the closest thing to the truth she could give the general.

"I thought as much," Tullius nodded. "I never said this, but the alliance with the Thalmor has always left a sour taste in my mouth. They destroyed so many lives and now they want us to bow and scrape to them as secondary citizens because they won a war they had no right to have started." He stood on his toes, stretching, and it reminded her of one of Cicero's tics. "Tell your man that he's always free to stop by Castle Dour and talk about nothing some time. Sometimes a man needs to talk about things with someone he doesn't know."

"Thank you, Tullius," she said, touched by his offer. "If you don't mind me asking, how did your son die?" It was an abrupt question, but Tullius was an abrupt man.

"He died in a fire with his milk mother when he was fifteen," Tullius said. "The whole house was consumed leaving nothing behind. It's hard for a man to bury his son, but they never tell you how hard it is when you have no body." He sighed. "I can't help it, but sometimes I keep looking for him hoping that there was a mistake or he managed to survive somehow. It's a foolish hope, but that's all you have when you're an old man." He shook her hand, changing the subject. "Thank you for dinner again."

"We'll have to have you back for dinner sometime soon," Diana said, feeling oddly better about the thought than she had earlier. Damn it, Cicero had been right again.

"I would appreciate that, but next time don't let your housecarl cook," Tullius chuckled. "She's a good girl, but I have enough of that Nordic fare at the castle."

"I'll see what I can do," Diana laughed. "Cicero likes to cook."

Tullius waved his farewell before heading up the hill back to Castle Dour. His stride was relaxed as he walked with his arms crossed behind his back. Diana watched him wistfully until he was out of sight. She had never had a father of her own and wondered what it would have been like.

The Dragonborn turned her gaze south towards High Hrothgar. The closest thing she had ever had to a father figure had been the hermit dragon Paarthurnax, and she hadn't seen him since Alduin's fall. She sometimes found herself wondering how he was doing. Was he happy now that he was no longer bound at the Throat of the World by honor, waiting for his evil brother's return? Had he successfully converted other dragons to the Way of the Voice?

Before her thoughts could linger too much on her old friend, a crash and gale of laughter from inside pulled her back to the present. "Cicero!" she yelled as she darted back in to see what trouble her Keeper had gotten into.

* * *

**Tirdas 6****th**** Hearthsfire 206 4E 2:00 PM**

"**PAARTHURNAX!"**

The old dragon lifted his head at the sound of his name being Shouted. His long tongue flickered in the air, tasting the Voice as it lingered. He did not like this Voice. He did not know it. It was not a _dovah_ who called for him. Nor was it one of his Greybeards. He knew all of their voices.

For months now this voice had reached him calling his name, but Paarthurnax had deigned to answer it. To Shout a dragon's name did not mean you had power over him, but every dragon was vain and curious at heart, so it was getting harder and harder to resist the lure of sating his curiosity every time he heard it.

He tried to dig deeper in the sands of Elswyr to make his nest more comfortable, but no matter how he turned or rolled, he could not get settled. He was currently somewhere southwest of the city of Dune, although he didn't know the_ joori_ city's name. He only knew that he was far enough away no one would notice his passage of flight and would not come hoping to make a name of dragonslayer for themselves.

Paarthurnax was enjoying the hot climate of this country. He had spent millennia in the frozen lands of Skyrim and found that he enjoyed any environment that did not include snow. He told himself that was a good reason to not go back. Who wanted the snow and wind of _Keizaal_ when he could have the pleasures of the other lands long denied to him?

He huffed, blowing sand everywhere. This was ridiculous! He was Paathurnax, founder of the Greybeards, son of Akatosh, grandmaster of the Way of the Voice! He did not come when called like some common _raan_.

On the other hand, he was no _nikriin_ who trembled at a _joori thu'um_! Paarthurnax nodded. He would explore and see who was calling his name. He would not go near Dragonsreach. He was curious, not _meyye_.

The flight was back uneventful, but that was to be expected. Paarthurnax was pleased to see that the source of the Shout was further north than Numinex's prison. Instead it was a walled city near a bay. A lone figure stood in a courtyard in front of the palace.

"Lydia," Paarthurnax said when he landed. He remembered the housecarl from before. Diana had been close to that one, trusting his secret to her. Something must have happened to the Dovahkiin and she had called him for assistance. "Why have you called me? Is there something wrong?"

"No. Everything is fine now that you're here." Lydia smiled. The dragon didn't like her toothy grimace. He started to spring into flight, but it was too late. "**JOOR ZAH FRUL**!"

Paarthurnax screamed as Dragonrend ripped through him. His soul shuddered at the temporary understanding of mortality. He was confused as the hated mortal Shout threw him prone to the ground. Guards streamed out from the castle, drawn by the Shout. Chains lashed out, lassoing him to the ground, binding him in place. "Why, Lydia? Why would you do this?"

He could hear the mortals whispering amongst themselves. "It knows the Stormblade's name! It talks!"

"You were the _Dovahkiin's fahdon_," the old dragon protested. It was hard to think as a chain tightened around his neck. His sight was darkening.

"No, I am the Dovahkiin," Lydia corrected as she strode to him. It would be easy to engulf her with his fire breath right now if he could catch his breath. "And you, monster, are my prisoner."

Her foot crashed down between his eyes and after that there was nothing but darkness.

* * *

A/N: I apologize for the huge delay between chapters. I got pretty wrapped up in reading A Song of Ice and Fire and doing a lot of socialization on Skype voice chat. I hope now that I'm not drowning in George R.R. Martin's intensely detailed world, I'll be able to focus on my own a bit.

I've actually been looking forward to this chapter for a while since readers have asked for some Tullius and Cicero interaction. I had to struggle for a long time to decide on how they would react with each other and I like to think this was a good result. If you haven't read "First Kill", I strongly recommend it as it ties in with this chapter significantly.

And then there's the part with Paarthurnax at the end! I definitely wanted to be a completely out of left field part, but I was stuck with "How does Lydia capture Paarthunax since he knows about the trap in Dragonsreach?" Easy, she makes her own in Windhelm!


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